Falling Slowly
by girlinshipwreck
Summary: The Doctor and his hybrid companion Vivien Holmes are captured by the alien resistance movement, the 2nd Massachusetts, but what's fair in love and war starts to become unclear as Tom and Vivien begin to fall for each other. {Season 1, AU}.
1. An Unforgiving World

**Author's Note:** Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel under _**girlinashipwreck**_.

* * *

**An Unforgiving World**

The Doctor glanced up at Vivien, taking in her pensive profile. Brow furrowing slightly, he stood up, scattering scrolls as he did so. Ignoring their disarray, he stretched his arms above his head, yawning theatrically. But still Vivien paid him no heed, almost absentmindedly pushing the damp hair out of her eyes, before gazing into the flickering flames with a frown.

He studied her for a moment, his ancient eyes becoming as distant as the stars. At heart she was still Vivien, but at the same time she wasn't. He missed the wide-eyed child with the tangled black hair, and he missed the woman she should have grown into. Sometimes it was like looking at a stranger, and other times she was still her; funny, fierce, and ever so slightly frightening.

"Earth to Vivien, Earth to Vivien," the Doctor intoned, striding over to her, his voice making her start violently.

"What the hell..." she began, before falling silent as he raised his eyebrows in expectation of more vitriol. She wasn't going to fall into that trap again. "Where are we?" she asked, changing tact. Whilst she'd been washing her hair, he'd parked the TARDIS, but where, she didn't know, and just now, she didn't particularly care. But she didn't want to pick another fight with him, so she struggled to stay civil instead.

"We're on Earth funnily enough," he replied, tugging at his earlobe. "But when or where, I don't really know."

Vivien made a face.

"I was going head up to the console room," the Doctor then said, eying her thoughtfully. "Wanna come? I'll let you loose on the levers."

She shook her head, turning back to face the fire.

The Doctor studied her again, resisting the urge to say, _your loss then,_ before turning and leaving her to the silence of the library. Vivien watched him go, before getting up and going over to the _chaise longue_, curling up into a ball, trying to block out the darkness of her thoughts. But before long, the silence began to bore into her skull, its very emptiness a cacophony.

She lay there for a while, the fire long dead, leaving a chill that went deeper than the bones. A part of her wished for a blanket, another part wished for the Doctor, for his presence to chase away the encroaching darkness. But to admit her need of him would be admitting defeat. This was a battle she had to fight on her own. Running away with him had been a mistaken surrender, and she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. But she couldn't outrun what she had become, and she couldn't accept it either. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes, falling into darkness, succumbing to slumber.

* * *

Drenched in its tarlike blood, the Doctor frantically worked over the creature, muttering manically, _stay with me, stay with me, stay with me_, scanning its mottled green body with his sonic. A tear leaked from its lizard-like eye, murky and opaque, rolling down and splashing onto the Doctor's suit. He leaned his forehead against its, whispering, _it's alright, it's alright, you're safe now, safe as houses..._

The Doctor had left Vivien slumbering in the library, draping his coat over her, before going for a wander. But a brief wander had become a bit of a trek, and somehow he'd swapped the warehouse for a street, then another, and another, until he'd found himself down a back alley, miles away from where he'd originally started, not quite sure how he'd reached such a conclusion.

The thought had left him scratching his head until he'd heard a weak chitter, the sound catching at his old hearts. That's when he'd found the creature, hidden behind some dumpsters, lying on its side, badly wounded, its breathing laboured and slow. It had obviously crawled away to die in some lonely desolate spot until he'd found it in all its bitter ignominy.

His head shot up as something clanged to the ground, swiftly followed by a rolling sound, a metal dustbin lid spinning to a halt in front of him, his gaze then crashing into the red-eyed one of the creature opposite. One ancient being looked upon another, all of time and space hanging in the balance between them, then the world tipped sideways onto its axis as an explosion rent existence in half, the Doctor flinging himself across the dying creature, trying to protect it from the blast with his body.

Coughing on the swirling dust and smoke, the Doctor looked up again, shielding his eyes with his arm, but the red-eyed creature was nowhere to be seen. The silence seemed to spin out into oblivion, before being shattered into a thousand fragments. Gunfire and screams drifted from the street further down, explosions renting existence in half over and over again, making him duck down. The ground began to shake, a dull droning drilling into his skull, making him hunch protectively over the creature, hearts cracking in his chest at seeing the light fading from its eyes.

Cradling it in his arms, he tried to support its head as it struggled to breathe. From somewhere nearby, a man screamed, the sky above the rooftops turning amber. Voice choked, the Doctor told the creature to go to sleep, to rest now. The sky then flashed silver, an odd electric thrum humming through the air, a woman crying out in pain, her agony echoing his own. The creature's gaze found his, holding it for a long moment, then its eyes fluttered shut, something like relief flickering across its face before it slipped away.

In the distance, there was the sound of skittering footsteps, then hissing, the guttural frequency switching between different pitches and paces. It was a language he didn't understand, and it was no longer being translated either, which meant something had happened to the TARDIS, and in turn, Vivien. The Doctor bowed his head, closing the creature's eyes with a shaking hand, his grief becoming eclipsed by the fear everything he cared about was in danger, when he was here, so far away, too far away...

"You Skitter lovin' son o' a bitch," a voice said in disgust. Jaw clenching, the Doctor raised his head, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Its owner, a middle-aged man in dirty double-denim, spat on the dead creature, making the Doctor start forwards, only to stop as the shotgun found his temple. "Don't move another muscle, or I'll blast your ass to kingdom come," the man growled, only for a bearded middle-aged man to burst through a fire exit behind them, a teenage boy hard on his heels, making the double-denimed man whirl around, aiming his shotgun at them instead.

"Whoa! It's just us, Tom and Hal Mason, remember!?" the boy snapped, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The double-denimed man hesitated, wrongfooted. Seeing his chance, the Doctor leapt to his feet, ready to run, only to falter as he found himself facing a row of guns and hostile faces.

"What's going on, Weaver?" the bearded man called Tom asked, his dark eyes darting between the Doctor and the others.

Dan Weaver, with his weather-beaten face, keen grey eyes and stubbled skin, advanced forwards, his rear guard following close behind, their guns still trained on the Doctor. The Doctor studied Weaver, taking in the camouflage patterned skip-hat and matching military fatigues, the long ash-grey hair tied back in a pony-tail, his gaze then flickering over Tom and his son instead, sizing them up, Tom, toweringly tall, looking like he'd slept under a bridge all night; Hal, the princeling with his jock good looks obviously not inherited from his homely looking sire. They were the weak points. They'd hesitated when the others hadn't, the only two who didn't have their guns trained on him.

"Found this beatnik here cradling a dying Skitter in his arms like it was his grandmother on her deathbed," Weaver explained, voice virulent with venom.

Tom and Hal looked at the Doctor in disbelief, both of them taking a step back as though he were contaminated.

Weaver jerked his head at the Doctor, who was still clutching his screwdriver. "Drop whatever you've got in your hand, son," he ordered.

The Doctor looked at his sonic, startled. He'd forgotten he was holding it. Gritting his teeth, he threw it to the ground, wherein Weaver aimed his rifle at it, making the Doctor spring forwards, only to leap backwards, arms flying up to his face as Weaver blasted it to pieces with bullets, the Doctor involuntarily shouting, "NO!"

Weaver ignored him, saying to Tom, "Never mind what's happening here. What's going down out there?"

"Mechs, front. The Colton Street barricade's down. Skitters too," Tom said quickly.

Weaver's face paled. Then he caught himself. "They're up to the Common. Both barricades there are gone," he said gruffly. "We're falling back. Back Bay is lost." Weaver then strode forwards, past Tom, calling over his shoulder to the rear guard to seize the Doctor.

Tom rushed to catch up with Weaver, falling into step with him as the Doctor was forced to follow at gunpoint, stumbling as a rifle butt made contact with the small of his back, his assailant spitting, "Put your hands behind your head, beatnik, where I can see 'em."

The Doctor did so, jaw tightening again, before taking one last regretful glance at the creature lying dead on the ground beside the remains of his sonic, earning him another blow, this time to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, body doubling up with pain. Hal frowned, looking like he was going to say something, only to think better of it, the double-denimed man then shoving the Doctor on, making him stumble.

From up ahead, Tom was talking, his voice low and urgent. "They take Back Bay, they take the city," he said, fists curling into balls at the thought. The enemy had already taken his wife and son from him, and now they were destroying what he had once called home.

"No kidding," Weaver said, darkly deadpan. He glanced over his shoulder again at the Doctor, face creasing with contempt, then confusion. Then he shook his head, dismissing the Doctor for the time being. "Porter's calling us in. Let's go."

Then the group faltered, gazes going skywards as an alien aircraft streaked through the night, emitting a silver ball of light which hit the horizon, exploding, the Doctor lunging forwards, yelling, _Vivien! _as the world turned violet, silver, indigo, the howl of the wind drowning out his screams.

* * *

Vivien woke up with a jolt, almost toppling over the side of the_ chaise longue_. She lay there, heart thumping in her chest, the stars soaring above her, an illusion that never failed to deceive. Then she sat up, the Doctor's long brown coat slipping to the floor. Vivien stared at it, a lump forming in her throat. His concern was something he didn't always show, but she only had herself to blame for that, always keeping him at arm's length, never quite trusting him.

Swinging her legs over the side, she stood up, craning her neck as she scanned the library for him, just in case he was lurking in one of the aisles, lost in some obscure volume. But he was nowhere to be seen. This wasn't unusual in itself, but still she felt rattled for some unidentifiable reason. She tried to tell herself the Doctor was probably still pottering about in the console room or perhaps trapped in a toilet somewhere. That had happened a few times, too many times for her taste. It always took her at least a day to locate him, and she always had to pack a bag for the journey.

But some instinct warned her that he wasn't in the TARDIS, not anymore at least, and she set off at a run, becoming nothing more than a shadow cast by the stars above. Several heartbeats later, she stepped out from between the TARDIS's blue doors, her bare feet colliding with cold concrete. Searching the console room had led to her checking the monitor, and here she was, somewhere in South Boston, on the threshold of discovery, the Doctor briefly forgotten. She stood there for a moment, taking in her surroundings, the dark cobwebbed corners and shelves, the rafters soaring above her. It seemed to be some sort of abandoned warehouse, sacks and boxes stacked up in piles here and there, gathering dust.

Quietly closing the doors behind her, she turned her key in the Yale lock before slipping the silver chain over her head, the metal cold against her skin. Tucking it out of sight under her camisole, she stepped forwards, anticipation setting her indigo eyes alight with blue fire. Stepping into the unknown sustained her reckless soul, even if the unknown was nothing more than a deserted building. Who knew what would step forth from the darkness...

As though in response to her thoughts, the ground began to shake, making her stumble. Flinging her arms out to balance herself, she ran, teeth rattling in her skull. Throwing herself behind some shelves, she ducked down as a huge metal creature stomped into view, emanating a terrible droning sound that reminded her of air raid sirens. For a moment, Vivien was back in the Blitz with her drawn on seams and Victory Roll, London falling, falling... Then the illusion was destroyed by reality, the metal creature circling the TARDIS in a series of clanking sidesteps, its jutting head tilted to one side as it studied the blue box.

Vivien watched, heart in mouth. Then static exploded in her mind, making her body jerk violently like she'd been electrocuted. Flashes of high-pitched screeches and hisses punctuated the vacant buzz before suddenly falling silent. She fell forwards, slumping against the shelves. The sound of scuttling skittering feet filled the void, scaling the walls, crossing the ceiling, heading towards the TARDIS.

A distant explosion rocked the building, the static returning, becoming a scream, making Vivien want to tear the insides of her skull out. Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped again. Head still spinning, she took her chance, crawling behind a stack of crates, retreating further into the shadows, trying not to choke on the dust swirling through the air. The sound of skittering feet was accompanied by bangs and a dragging sound, and she realised with a sickening jolt they were taking the TARDIS away.

Then the static returned again, becoming a full blow storm, drowning out the outside world, making her clamp her hands over her ears. Clenching her teeth, she, tried to suffocate the screams crawling up her throat, her body contorting horribly with the effort. Then it suddenly fell silent in her head once more. She slumped forwards again, breath coming in huge rasps, fingers clutching the crates for support, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck.

Slowly, she turned around, only to see a creature watching her as though it _knew_ her, the left hand side of its mottled green face distorted by vicious scars. They stared at each other, girl and monster, and then the creature jerked its head, as though to say _go, now! _Vivien staggered to her feet, somehow managing to drag herself past the creature and out of the warehouse, the journey a blur, her mind a kaleidoscope of confusion.

She crept along an alleyway, back pressed against the wall, ducking behind a dumpster as a beam of blindingly silver light sliced through the air, dividing the darkness. She waited until it was gone, then she started moving again, the uneven ground digging threateningly against the bare soles of her feet. Every step felt like a betrayal, abandoning the TARDIS to save her own sorry skin. But still she staggered on, falling further into an unforgiving world.

After several dead-ends, Vivien stumbled to a halt, ducking down behind an overturned car. In the distance, the skyline was alight with silver and amber flashes, explosions and gunfire making her ears ache. She unsteadily got to her feet again, before sprinting forwards, heading towards another alleyway opening further down. Then she heard it again, that sickening drone that made the pit of her stomach turn cold. The ground began to shake again as the sound of stomping metal feet drew closer.

Vivien hesitated, realising she wasn't going to make it to the alleyway, not without giving away her position. She cut her run short, hiding in a doorway instead, shrouding herself in shadow as a white searchlight scanned the street. She didn't move, keeping very still, hardly daring to breathe, closing her eyes as the metal creature moved on, its drone fading into the distance. Feeling like a fox on the hunting field, she counted to three, before exhaling sharply and making a bolt for it down the street, turning into the alleyway. She slumped against the wall, clutching her side, a stitch building, but she forced herself to move again.

Almost blindly she turned corner after corner, fleeing down alleyway after alleyway, sticking to the backstreets, ducking at the slightest shadow, flinching at the faintest noise. Her lungs were screaming at her to stop, but to stop meant being captured, killed even. Her main imperative was to survive, to evade the enemy. Head spinning, Vivien slowed to a halt as she hit a dead-end, the sound of engines overhead drawing closer.

_Dead ends hide on every street_  
_Look before you place your feet_  
_Cracks and fissures keep the beat_  
_And you're inside it..._


	2. Mayflower Surrender

**Mayflower Surrender**

The Doctor was marched into the 2nd Massachusetts camp, past a makeshift barricade composed of foliage, tyres and crates stacked up in winding rows, creating narrow paths. The group fell into single file, a rifle butt nudging the base of the Doctor's bruised spine. Those manning the barricade eyeballed the Doctor with blatantly hostile curiosity. A boy, about thirteen years old, with a grubby, chubby face and greasy brown hair falling over bright blue eyes, emerged from behind a hedge, accosting Hal, who said tiredly, "What's up, Jimmy?"

"We holding? Who'd we lose?" Jimmy demanded

"Captain Jameson, Jerrod's cousin, a bunch of guys I didn't know," Hal said wearily, leading the group up some steps.

Jimmy faltered to a halt. "Jameson's dead? Who's gonna command the 2nd?"

Nobody answered him. When the Doctor brushed past him, Jimmy stared at his retreating back in confusion, calling after the group, "Whose the guy in the suit?"

The Doctor was taken into some sort of outdoor holding, the place crowded and crushed, the wounded being lifted onto stretchers, others queuing up at an impromptu counter made of crates where unappetizing looking food was being doled out. Tom stopped, looking around, searching for somebody, his gaze finally falling upon a little boy with his dark eyes. Hal joined the end of the soup line, winding his arms around the waist of the blonde standing just ahead of him, his lips finding the nape of her neck, the blonde batting him away with mock modesty.

The group continued without them, the Doctor being hurried on, led through the curious crowd, then across a suspended catwalk into a cramped dimly lit workroom filled with dusty old sewing machines, the windows smashed, the glass looking like broken teeth. The Doctor ran his tongue over his own, wincing at the taste of blood. Teeth were still all there though.

"I told Reed small arms only. He had those AT4s. I guess he used them and pissed them off," Porter replied, looking put out.

Weaver pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to say a few choice words about Reed, only respect for the dead preventing him from doing so. Porter looked at him for a long moment, before turning to one of his companions, leaning down and whispering something in his ear. The man nodded, before saluting, turning smartly on his heel and leaving the workroom, barging past the Doctor as he was shoved into a corner, two of the rear guard training their rifles on him, the rest standing to attention behind Weaver. Porter's gaze flickered over the Doctor, taking him in from top to toe.

"Who's this?" Porter asked.

"Caught him down the back of an alley up near the Colton Street barricade. Was cradling a dying Skitter in his arms like it was his firstborn child. Never seen anything like it in my life," Weaver said, face disgusted.

Porter gaped at the Doctor before catching himself. "Well... well, was he on his own?" Porter stuttered, eyes round as saucers.

"I believe he had a... female associate. Vivien or something. But she got blown up with the rest of South Boston, thank the Lord."

The Doctor lunged forwards, the room exploding into uproar, men shouting, raising guns, those already raised having their triggers almost pulled.

"AT EASE! AT EASE!" Porter bellowed, waving his arms like a windmill. "PUT DOWN YOUR GODDAMN WEAPONS! NOW!"

Reluctantly his order was obeyed. Porter stepped in front of the Doctor, almost like a human shield. "This man is not to be harmed, do you hear me?" he intoned, looking round at their mutinous faces.

"It's a bit late for that, ain't it, Colonel?" one of the men sneered, motioning to the Doctor's battered visage. "If you want though, we can finish off what we started" -

\- "What did I just say, soldier?" Porter said dangerously.

The man bowed his head, shoulders hunching, eyes resentful.

Weaver stepped forwards, ready to take up the rebellion, but Porter halted him with his hand. "Knowledge is power, Dan," Porter said, eying the Doctor as though he was a slice of cake he'd very much like to eat, "and this man might prove very useful in terms of intel."

Weaver bit his lip, struggling to choke down his subversion, pissed off at Porter's plans and his cliché comments. But he held his tongue all the same, respecting the chain of command as every good soldier should. A timid knock disturbed the silence, making them all turn around. Tom was standing the doorway, knuckles hesitantly half raised over the wooden doorframe.

"Come on in, Tom," Porter said, beckoning him in.

Tom entered, glancing nervously at the Doctor despite himself.

"You've met then?" Porter said, noting the way the Doctor was watching Tom.

"Sort of," Tom replied.

"Well, he's not to be harmed, do you hear me?"

"What, you want us to question him?" Tom hazarded.

"Obviously," Porter said, all but rolling his eyes.

"But if he doesn't talk..."

"And you don't want us to lay a finger on him..." Weaver said, catching up the tail end of Tom's sentence, making Tom glare at him for twisting his words. But Weaver ignored him, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, making Porter look sharply at him.

"You're not getting the point," Porter said, sounding at the end of his tether. "We can't fight the aliens unless we _know _how."

"He could just tell you a pack of lies," Tom pointed out tentatively. "In fact, bringing him back here might have been a huge mistake. There could be a bunch of Mechs heading our way right now because of him."

Porter just looked at Tom like he was an imbecile. "When he talks, I want you to listen," Porter said impatiently. "Whatever he says might just be the answer we're seeking."

"We don't need an answer," Weaver snapped. "We need to fight and we already _know _how to."

"No, we don't," Porter said, "nobody does, and that's the problem. This man could be the weak link in the chain, the opening we've been searching for. But we can't place all our bets on the one horse. So that's why we're going to split up - we're gonna run, and we're gonna hide, and we're gonna survive. The food stores have been marked on the maps. As of last week's recon, they were all intact and secure. So we'll be moving out in the morning, going to ground somewhere around Acton, and that's the end of it. I won't brook any more arguments."

"I hear you, sir, but like I said" -

"What did I just say, Weaver?" Porter said coldly, stepping forwards.

Weaver's jaw tightened, but he finally held his tongue.

Porter studied him for a long moment, before turning away, addressing the whole room instead. "He's in protective custody until I see fit to change that status. Anybody who lays a finger on him without an ironclad reason to do so, will be court-martialled. Is that understood?" He looked round at them all, face stern. They all nodded, albeit unwillingly. The Doctor was then led out from the room, disliking the gleam in Porter's eye as he watched him leave.

* * *

"So the Continental Army are fighting the English again?" Dr. Anne Glass asked, eying the Doctor with some distaste, before almost but not quite flirtatiously raising an eyebrow at Tom as she finished cleaning the blood from the Doctor's face. His nose wasn't broken and there were no missing teeth, only the barest hint of a black eye, the rest of him merely bruised and battered, his lip already starting to heal. He seemed hardy to Anne, and peculiarly so. The kind of beating Tom said the stranger had undergone back in the alleyway should have led to a few broken ribs at least.

"There are your enemies, the Red Coats and the Tories. They are ours, or this night Molly Stark sleeps a widow!" Tom declaimed sarcastically. "Talk about history repeating itself," he added darkly, gaze travelling over the Doctor sitting before him, hands bound, face unreadable. Back at the alley, he'd tried and failed to stop the men from beating the Doctor into submission, only obeying Weaver's order to stand down. The fact they had refused to acknowledge his authority only added to his unease over being promoted to second-in-command of the 2nd Massachusetts, making him wonder if he was capable of such an undertaking.

"You have no idea," the Doctor said quietly, staring ahead at some unseen point. Tom and Anne exchanged a glance, and then Anne pulled out her stethoscope, slipping its buds into her ears. Stooping down, she checked the Doctor's chest, frowning slightly. She moved the small disc along the front of his suit, eyes widening, all the blood draining from her face. She slowly stood up, removing the buds from her ears, staring at the Doctor as though he'd just sprouted horns.

"What is it?" Tom said, alarmed.

Anne turned to face Tom, her body swaying slightly on the spot. "His heart," she whispered_. _"His... _hearts._"

Tom stared at her, before snatching the stethoscope out of her shaking hands. Anne backed away, crashing into the table as she went. Tom hastily thrust the buds into his own ears, falling to his knees as he pressed the small disc to the Doctor's chest, hearing the echo of another heartbeat. His own heart now beating hard in his chest, he slid the disc as Anne had done, over the front of the Doctor's torn suit, following the echo back to its source, the beat now steady and loud. And all the while, the Doctor sat there, unmoving, uncaring.

Tom looked up at Anne, his face now resembling a corpse's. "He's... he's not human," Tom managed to choke out.

"But how?" Anne whispered, collapsing down onto a chair.

"Some - some sort of new alien experiment?" Tom hazarded, trying and failing to get to his feet, his legs having been reduced to jelly.

"I'm not the by-product of some experiment," the Doctor said, sounding insulted, a spark of life returning to his eyes. "I was born this way, as Lady Gaga so wisely said."

"But _how?_" Tom asked, echoing Anne's earlier words. "You... you look _human_."

"We came first," the Doctor shrugged.

"Who came first?" Anne demanded, recovering her nerve. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the Doctor," he said, eyes now dancing with a devilish light, "that's who."

_Potion delirium, mayflower surrender_  
_In the dark no one knows who you are_  
_Taxidermy play dead, and best of all_  
_I wasn't laughing at anything in particular_

* * *

"Do you not realise what we've just done!?" Weaver exploded as Porter circled the Doctor now sitting on a stool in the middle of the heavily guarded workroom, surrounded by soldiers and sewing machines long silent. "We've brought an alien into the heart of our camp! An alien, Jim, a goddamn _alien_!" He was beyond angry, beyond protocol, losing all sense of proper formalities.

"Yes, an _alien_," Porter said, his eyes shining.

Weaver turned away from the sickening sight of Porter gloating, before suddenly veering to the left, hand flying to his chest, eyes scrunching up with pain. Tom grabbed his arm, worried, but Weaver shook him off, muttering something incomprehensible. Tom retreated, still feeling like his world had been turned upside down.

"It's like Mason said, there could be a bunch of Mechs heading our way right now," Danner argued. "That - that _thing_ could bring the Skitters down on us. Hell, it might have been a trap laid for us, a complete set-up!"

"There is no trap," the Doctor said coldly, glancing contemptuously around the workroom, all too aware of their fearful thoughts. Only Porter was unaffected by the storm unfolding, looking like the cat that had got the cream. Any minute now, he would start licking his moustache, Tom thought darkly.

"If he's an alien," Anderson asked, stepping forwards, "how come he looks so human?"

The Doctor burst out laughing. "_As if!_" he said, sounding incredulously insulted, startling them all.

"He said he was an alien, born and bred," Tom explained after a brief pause, shaking himself back into semblance.

"But that could be a lie, something to throw you off the scent," Anderson said, shooting the Doctor a wary glance.

"What do you mean?"

"This could be a new alien offensive," Anderson explained. "Another way of harnessing, except for adults this time."

"But he's not harnessed," Tom said slowly, looking like he was struggling to reconcile two colliding viewpoints. "Not as far as we know. Certainly he doesn't have any of these things on his back. And he seems to be acting on his own will, not another's. He's his own man." As soon as he said this, Tom could have bitten out his tongue.

"That's no man, Tom," Weaver growled.

"It doesn't matter," Porter said, stunning them all.

"Excuse me?" Weaver sputtered.

"This... this being," Porter said, inclining his head at the Doctor almost politely, "is not to be harmed, do you hear me?"

Weaver just gawped at him.

"We can't keep him here, Jim," Tom said, unable to believe what he was hearing. "He's an alien; he was caught helping a Skitter for chrissake" –

\- "It was frightened," the Doctor spat. "Frightened and dying."

"It and its kind are destroying this planet," Tom spat back, "enslaving our children" –

\- "I bear your species no ill-will," the Doctor retorted. "I have no intentions of harming anyone, human or otherwise."

"Told you he was a beatnik," Weaver muttered, returning back to life.

"And I tell you, he could be lying," Anderson reiterated, turning on Porter.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard of me," the Doctor said with a frown to Porter, ignoring Anderson. "I've had dealings with the Yanks before. Surely there must be a record of me somewhere?"

"Nothing of that kind exists anymore," Porter said, "none that we have access to anyways."

"But aliens, surely that's nothing new?" the Doctor pressed.

"What, before the current conflict?" Porter said frowning.

"Daleks. Cybermen. Ring a bell? Ding-a-ling?"

"Any previous suspected alien contact was either faked or created by hallucogenics administered by terrorists on a mass scale," Porter explained. "Until now, we have always believed we were alone in the universe."

The Doctor almost laughed in the old man's face before catching himself in time. It wasn't the human's fault he believed such fairytales spun by his superiors. Those high-up had hidden the truth, probably for what they considered the greater good, protecting humanity from the unknown, yet look where it had gotten them, on their knees.

"Why do you speak with an English accent?" Tom asked suddenly.

"What, finding it hard to get your head around an Anglo-Saxon alien?" the Doctor said, waggling his eyebrows, enjoying himself now. "And there's me thinking, 'the rebels are not the despicable rabble too many have supposed them to be'."

"For 'they never showed such conduct, attention, and perseverance as they do now'," Tom finished, looking taken aback. "General Gage, yeah?"

"Lovely man," the Doctor reminisced. "Even lovelier hat."


	3. Tibik-kìzis

**Tibik-kìzis **

The next morning dawned cold and bright, another day dividing Tom from Ben, his lost son never far from his thoughts. He strode into the workroom, bearing a tray containing the Doctor's makeshift breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal and a bottle of water. Tom wasn't exactly sure what extra-terrestrials ate, whether this one even ate at all. But the Doctor just averted his face, staring at the ground instead.

He'd spent all night in the workroom, surrounded by soldiers, their whispers and rifles aimed in his direction. Every instinct to run and find Vivien had been repressed, for he knew they'd open fire on him on the slightest provocation. Porter might be in charge, but revenge was the real master they would obey in the end. In a way he couldn't blame them, he understood revenge, but at the same time, he sought to escape its yoke, whilst they willingly embraced it.

So he'd sat it out, remembering the distant stars, constellations that had called to something in Vivien, both mere ghosts of themselves. He imagined her ebony hair falling across her pale face, the way her brow furrowed even in sleep, and something inside him cracked. Tom noted the anguish in the alien's eyes, and despite himself, he wondered at how it could feel; how it could experience such _human_ emotion.

Porter came into the workroom, shadowed by two soldiers. He looked tired; even his moustache was drooping. "Has he said anything?" Porter asked Tom, glancing at the Doctor with that odd satisfaction that disturbed Tom so.

"No," Tom replied, trying to hide his discomfort. "And I don't think he's going to."

"No matter," Porter said, dismissing Tom's doubts with a wave of his wrinkled hand. "He'll start talking soon enough, and since nothing's came after him so far, I think it's safe to assume he's no longer in contact with the Skitters at least."

Tom just looked down at the tops of his scuffed boots, trying and failing again to hide his unease. Capturing the Doctor might be the breakthrough they had been so desperately searching for, but his presence was causing panic amongst the civilians, even the soldiers and fighters. It wasn't just about him being an alien, but the fact he didn't _look _like one. Mechs and Skitters looked like something from another world whilst the Doctor didn't, the oppressor wearing the face of the oppressed.

Unperturbed, Porter studied the Doctor for a long moment before beckoning Tom to follow him out of the workroom, the two soldiers accompanying them. "I'm moving out this morning, as you know," Porter said, "reconnecting with my med and science people. But I'm not taking the Doctor with me, he's going with you."

"What?" Tom said, astonished that Porter would leave his prize prisoner behind, out of his sight and protection.

"I'm entrusting him to you."

"Jim..."

"Keep him alive, Tom," Porter said abruptly. "And that's an order."

* * *

_Smoke clogged the air, flames casting amber shadows, the silence overwhelming. She tried to sit up, only to find her legs were trapped under a metal dumpster, the rest of her completely covered in rotting, stinking rubbish. With great difficulty, she pulled herself free, bones feeling almost but not quite broken, before crawling through the debris like a cockroach, coughing and choking her guts up._

_She only covered a few feet of distance before her body gave up the ghost. Collapsing face down amongst the rubble, panic took possession, lending her false strength, propelling her to her feet, only for her legs to give way under her once more. As she lay there, her ears ringing from the explosion, her grip on reality began to slip. Then it was going, going, gone from her. She rolled onto her back, staring almost unseeingly up the sky. Flames flickered and blurred, the stars dimming, dying. The world reeled above her, then darkness fell, pulling her under, unaware of the red-eyed gaze watching her from the shadows..._

Vivien woke up with a jolt, her forehead bouncing off something oddly hard but squidgy at the same time, nearly knocking her out all over again. The something stirred, chittering in complaint to itself, before falling silent once more. Vivien stared at the mottled green underside above her, a scream clawing its way up her throat. She choked it down, trying to hold herself together, eyes darting from side to side for an escape route. But all she seen was legs, forming bars like a cage. Whatever it was, it had her trapped, like a hen sitting on an egg. Terror and astonishment battled each other for supremacy, astonishment winning.

She just lay there, trying to wrap her head round it all. When this didn't work, she tried pulling what she could remember of the past together, fast forwarding to when she was reduced to rubble amongst the ruins, the stars dimming above her. Scrunching up her eyes, she tried to remember what came afterwards, but all she could conjure up was a vague recollection of being poked sharply in the side by something claw-like, then being hoisted upwards before the darkness claimed her again.

Rallying her courage, Vivien cleared her throat, making the creature raise itself on its spiderlike legs before slowly side-stepping away from her, allowing Vivien to sit up. She looked around, hugging her knees to her chest, feet aching and crusted with blood, trying and failing not to be scared as several pairs of lizard-like eyes met hers. With a shock, she recognized one of them as the creature from the warehouse, the left hand side of its face even more horrifically scarred up close, some instinct telling her it had been the one almost nesting over her.

The scarred creature tilted its head to the side, almost querying, before suddenly lashing out. Reacting on pure reflex, Vivien threw herself sideways, crashing into some crates, landing heavily on her side. Head spinning, she tried to crawl away from the creatures, but she was cornered, surrounded, their claws clicking, voices chittering. Then the static flooded her mind, invading, suffocating, deafening. The sound of screeches and caterwauling echoed through the caverns of her consciousness. She was sinking, sinking, sinking...

"For God's sake, stop!" she begged, feeling her subconscious starting to slip away. To her shock, everything suddenly fell silent. Vivien raised her head, staring at the creatures in confusion, the scarred one raising its front leg or arm - she wasn't sure - slowly this time, reaching out to her with its clawed appendage. Through the fear, she kept very still, scrunching up her eyes, hoping the end would be quick. To her even greater shock, the claw didn't dash her brains out, but actually stroked her hair, the scarred creature making strange chittering noises which sounded oddly comforting.

Vivien opened her eyes, not quite believing what was happening. Then there was a short explosion of hissing from somewhere behind her, but still she didn't move a muscle, only watching as the creatures scattered, the scarred one falling back as well, staring at Vivien with daunting devotion in its odd eyes. She couldn't say for sure, but she thought it was female. Head spinning, she unsteadily got to her feet, turning to face with some trepidation whatever was intimidating the others.

It was another creature, its right eye completely red, the infection spreading through its veins, starting to colour its skin crimson. This one looked to be a male, but again, she couldn't say for sure. It raised itself up on its back legs, towering over her, trying to intimidate or so it seemed to Vivien. She stood her ground regardless. Then the static struck once more, making her fall to her knees, hands hopelessly clamped over her ears.

As though from far away, feet skittered across the floor; then a warning screech, the answering one angry and outraged. The static stopped. Vivien raised her head, feeling like she was going to throw up, only to find the scarred creature standing in front of her, the red-eyed one clicking its claws, the two of them locked in some sort of stand-off.

Head reeling, Vivien got to her feet again, before staggering forwards, making the scarred creature turn to face her. Vivien hastily held her hands up, trying to convey the message she wasn't a threat. The scarred creature reluctantly stepped aside, the movement awkward and inelegant. Vivien hesitated, before speaking, trying to keep her voice steady. "I mean you no harm," she began almost ironically.

Red-Eye just glared at her, claws still clicking.

"The static and the screeches in my head," she continued, switching subject, "if - if that's you trying to talk, I don't understand - I can't communicate with you like that, through my mind. It hurts too much, so... so please stop trying to, alright?"

Red-Eye tilted his head, claws finally silent.

Vivien dropped her hands to her sides, hoping they were meeting on some sort of middle ground now. "I have to find my friend," she said slowly. "Have you seen him? Tall, wears a suit? Awful sideburns?"

Red-Eye edged forwards.

"Have you seen him?" she repeated.

Suddenly the static returned, making her double up, hands clutching the sides of her head. Again, as swiftly as it started, it stopped. She looked up, stars exploding in front of her eyes, Red-Eye's face contorted with frustration and confusion.

"You don't understand why I can't understand you, do you?" Vivien spat. "I'm receiving but not responding, yes? Well, get this, Flubber, I'm not a bloody radio, alright? This isn't CB Central."

Red-Eye just hissed, sounding exasperated.

"Screw you!" Vivien snapped, making Red-Eye rear up on his back legs again, claws clicking threateningly. She turned to leave, only to find her way blocked by the scarred creature and its companions. "Let me pass!" Vivien cried, trying to barge past them, only to go flying as something trunk-like slammed into her chest, knocking the wind out of her.

She hit the merciless ground, limbs asprawl, completely stunned, feeling like her ribs were broken. A set of angry screeches raged overhead, punctuated by skittering feet, clicking claws, and then the floor started to shake, a low droning sound drilling into her skull, the stomping of metallic footsteps making the creatures fall silent, their body language an odd mixture of fear and defiance, posture prostrate, eyes angry.

Vivien slowly sat up, only to find herself nose to nose with Red-Eye. The creature tilted his head to the side once more, making Vivien spring to life. "Don't," she said quickly, voice cracking. "Just don't. I get it. It's too dangerous for me to go out there, not with these metal things jiving about anyways."

Red-Eye chittered.

"What the hell does that mean?" Vivien exclaimed, feeling like she was banging her head off a brick wall. "Yes? No? Or something totally random like will you marry me?"

Red-Eye chittered again.

"Well, if it does mean that, the answer is no," Vivien said. "I prefer bipeds - no offense," she added hastily.

Red-Eye studied her for a long moment, before turning and side-stepping away, gait awkward. The scarred creature stepped forwards, eyes becoming filled with frightening devotion again. Vivien gazed at it, thinking she preferred Red-Eye's painfully blunt approach to this weird veneration. The scarred creature gazed at her in return, almost like it was waiting for her to say something. Vivien ran her hand through her tangled hair, perplexed.

"Erm... thanks," she said, suddenly inspired, "you know, for defending me back there."

The scarred creature tilted its head à la Red Eye, but Vivien wasn't sure if it understood a word she was saying. Suddenly something came spinning across the filthy floor towards her, striking her foot. Looking down, she was surprised to see it was a half empty bottle of water. Then something smacked her in the side of the head, knocking her sideways. All the creatures started chittering, almost laughing. Clutching her head, she snatched up what had hit her. It was a chocolate bar, crushed in the middle.

Vivien glanced up, her gaze meeting Red-Eye's. The creature inclined his head, before skittering up some steps, a number of the others following it. There was the sound of hinges creaking in protest, skittering feet, and then a door clanging shut. The scarred creature sat down in front of Vivien, carefully tucking its legs away, looking at her expectantly with its lizard-like eyes. Sighing heavily, Vivien took the hint and tore open the chocolate wrapper, feeling like she was five years old again, being force-fed Brussels sprouts.

The remaining creatures scuttled up the walls and over the ceiling, making Vivien freeze. She watched wide-eyed as they settled into position, hanging upside down like bats, eyes fluttering shut. Several hours later, her fascination had become broken by boredom. After studying them for a while, she'd observed they seemed to come and go in shifts, alternating between leaving and skittering around the basement, scaling its walls or sleeping suspended from the ceiling. They didn't seem to eat either, though she supposed they did this outside, perhaps hunting the local wildlife. She'd nervously wondered if humans, hybrid or otherwise, came under that category.

Vivien had attempted verbally trying to bridge the gap between her and the scarred creature, nicknaming it Scarface Sally, no longer defining the creature as an it, but after firing a barrage of unanswered questions at her - _what are you, where are you from, why are you here, what's going on, is there a war, where is the TARDIS, it's a blue box, your kind took it away _\- she had been reduced to trying to teach Sally her own name. However, she'd reached the uncomfortable conclusion the creature just liked listening to her voice.

It had become quickly obvious to Vivien that the TARDIS had shut herself down as a measure of self protection, no longer translating, just barely existing. And escaping to find her was out of the question, not with Sally watching her every move, like some scaly eight-legged bodyguard. The whole situation had Vivien bamboozled. The creatures had taken the TARDIS, maybe the Doctor too, and someone or something had given the order to hunt her down like a dog. Yet, here she was, being protected by those who had been hunting her, from those who still were.

Vivien got up, going over to sit on a crate instead. Red-Eye hadn't returned yet, and no other food seemed to be forthcoming. Yet just as she was thinking this, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open, Red-Eye filling the doorway, before descending the stairs in a sideways fashion, looking like he was about to break into a Fred Astaire routine. All he needed was a top hat and cane to complete the picture.

"Hey," Vivien said, standing up as he came over to her, "are you going to tell me what the hell's going on?"

Red-Eye just stared at her, tilting his head to one side, contemplating Vivien as though she was an insect.

"Are you going to answer me or what?" Vivien snapped, shoving him hard, only to be suddenly flung aside, crashing into the crate she had just been sitting on. She landed heavily on her hip, the pain ricocheting through her like fire. Time seemed to slow down, almost stopping. Then Vivien slowly got to her feet, Red-Eye looming over her, his shadow eclipsing hers.

Girl and monster stared at each other, locked in a stand-off between the species, the tension becoming sky-high, the other creatures chittering nervously to one another, Sally circling the pair, clicking her claws anxiously, but even she knew better to interfere this time. Red-Eye tilted his head to the side again, and that's when Vivien backed down, fearing the onslaught of static. Without a word, she took a step back, hunching her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around herself and her rags, feeling uncharacteristically self conscious, her mind exaggerating the slight swell of her stomach, the faint thickening of her thighs and the wide curve of her hips.

Two pregnancies had altered her body beyond recognition, shaping it into something else altogether. Yet youth had kept her figure largely in line in parts, losing control everywhere else. She no longer saw in the mirror the long lanky girl she used to be, but in this moment, her past and present collided together, making her feel as awkward and gangly as she had at twelve, yet as unfurled and unfocused as she did now at twenty, her falsely human frailties lying on the floor for all to see.

"Where's the TARDIS?" she asked quietly, trying to hold onto the only home she ever had.

Red-Eye suddenly reared back, screeching, making the creatures scatter. Vivien remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear as his front legs crashed back onto the ground, making it shake. Then the static struck her again, making her drop like a stone to the floor, arms wrapped hopelessly around her head. Through the chaos, his wrath raged, cursing her stupidity, her ignorance, and at the heart of all this, was the TARDIS, the catalyst for his catastrophic anger, its very existence an insult to him. But despite this insight, she still didn't understand.

"Why?" she whispered, tears rolling down her face. "_Why?_"

Red-Eye just threw her a scornful look before turning and walking away, claws clattering across the floor.

* * *

_In the full moon's light, I listen to the stream_  
_And inbetween the silence, I hear you calling me_  
_But I don't know where I am_  
_And I don't trust who I've been..._

The Doctor dragged his feet as they walked up the steep hill, once again fighting the urge to break free and run. That's all he wanted, to run all the way back to South Boston and find Vivien, so she could laugh at him for being a sentimental old fool. All around him the 2nd Mass stumbled on, a motley procession of vehicles, bikes and people on foot carrying children, backpacks, weapons, or pulling shopping bags on wheels, as well as pushing bicycles and supermarket trolleys laden with black bags.

Tom was just up ahead, falling into step beside Dr. Glass, the rich reddish mahogany highlights of her long hair flashing like fire in the sun, Tom brushing something off her shoulder, the gesture unconsciously intimate. With great nosiness, the Doctor watched the way Tom kept stooping down to listen to something Anne was saying, their conversation coloured by the wide curve of Anne's smile, then Tom's answering boyish grin. Finally growing bored with the ridiculous mating dance humans so liked to indulge in, the Doctor glanced around him, properly this time, taking in the lush green verdure and majestic houses spanning the sloping streets.

"This is Bartlett Hill," the Doctor said in surprise, making Tom glance over his shoulder at him, brow furrowing.

"Shut up," the fighter to the left of him spat. "This ain't a sightseein' tour."

"About four hundred years ago, this was all Pennacook settlement," the Doctor continued, as though the fighter hadn't spoken. "Merrimack people. Algonquian speaking. Called me Tibik-kìzis which means moon by the way. Smallpox sadly wiped them all out in the end though."

"Wish I could wipe you out," the other fighter said dangerously.

"Like chalk off a blackboard," the Doctor replied, waggling his eyebrows.

After walking for another hour or so, the 2nd Mass made a stop outside a Sundash in Belmont, vehicles slowing to a halt, people swarming the storefront. The Doctor was forced to sit down on the edge of the sidewalk, fighters standing around him in a foursquare. A group led by Anne, went into the Sundash, covering their noses with hankies or their hands, the stink of rotting fruit polluting the air.

As they sifted through what was left of the food, the Doctor made a point of inhaling and exhaling enthusiastically, as though he was enjoying fresh mountain air. Anne, who was standing by the door, stacking tins into a cardboard box, her nose tucked into her shoulder, shot him a funny look, but the young woman beside her almost smiled, her grin cut short by Weaver who descended on her like a dark cloud.

"What are you smirking at, girl?" he asked, trying to keep his temper under control, knowing full well what she was smirking at.

"Nothing, sir," Lourdes said hastily, casting her gaze to the ground.

Weaver studied her for a moment before marching over to Tom, shaking his head to himself as he moved. Lourdes watched Weaver go before glancing at the Doctor again, her big brown eyes glittering with curiosity. The Doctor shot her a wink, making Lourdes hastily duck her head, her curtain of long dark hair falling across her hotly flushing face. Anne stared coldly at the Doctor, but he just raised his eyebrows questioningly in return, and she resumed packing her tins into their cardboard box, albeit with more force than before.

"That thing is trying to corrupt our women!" Weaver exclaimed to Tom, who was amused against his will. "He's got Lourdes all goo-goo eyed over him, and as for Anne, well she acts like the ice maiden, but still waters run deep" -

\- "You should stop right there," Tom said sharply, Weaver cutting too close to the bone for his taste now. "I think your imagination is getting a bit carried away with itself" -

\- "What, you really want his grubby little hands on your woman, huh!?" Weaver said, getting upset now. "Seducing Anne with his alien charm" -

\- "That's enough!" Tom snapped, flushing hotly, before being distracted by Hal and Karen heading towards them on their bikes.

"Every food store and cache between Belmont and Acton has been picked clean!" Hal hollered as he screeched past, not stopping, wheels kicking up a cloud of dust as he went.

"So, it's one of the ShopSmarts then, either the store in West Newton or the distribution centre in Watertown," Tom said, recovering himself as he turned to Weaver who was now pulling a map out of his back pocket, unrolling it.

"We can't go back, not with this group, too many, too slow," Weaver said, shaking his head.

"Maybe half your vehicles and half your fighters could go back, get the food, and then catch up with the rest of you later," the Doctor called from further down the sidewalk.

Tom and Weaver turned to look at the Doctor, who just beamed at them from behind the fighters' legs. Weaver strode down the sidewalk, cursing the Doctor under his breath, the fighters parting like the Red Sea as he drew level with them. He came to a halt in front of the Doctor, almost standing on him.

"Hello!" the Doctor said cheerily.

"This little expedition you're planning, who's gonna lead them? You?" Weaver said sarcastically, clenching his fists, crumpling up his map in the process. The Doctor just looked at him as though he was an imbecile, his gaze then sliding sideways as Tom stepped into the fray.

"No, me," Tom said quietly, making Weaver gawp at him.

"You wanna go back?" Weaver spluttered. "On the advice of this Skitter loving shit-pie?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence, and then Weaver folded up his map, concentrating just a little too hard to make sure the edges were all in alignment. "Fine," Weaver then said from between gritted teeth. "But I'm only giving you the pick-up and six fighters."

Tom's jaw tightened. "Weapons?" he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral.

"What you got, and as many mags as you can carry," Weaver replied, before turning and walking away from Tom.

"One of the RPGs?"

"No," Weaver hollered over his shoulder.

"Some C-4?"

"No!"

"All right, we'll make do," Tom muttered under his breath, before kicking a lamp-post, much to the Doctor's amusement.

People started piling out of the Sundash, laden with bags and boxes, Anne and Lourdes leading them over to the vehicles. Weaver stood at the top of the street, shouting orders, _follow the commuter rail west, _the Doctor being hauled to his feet again, _we'll meet at the Littleton Bridge. _Tom ran his hand over his beard, exhaling sharply.

"That's a nice beard by the way, though it could do with a trim," the Doctor said from behind Tom, making him whirl around.

"What is it with you!?" Tom exclaimed, fighting the urge to deck the Doctor.

"What do you mean, Mephistopheles?"

Tom's face reddened at this particular folkloric jibe, but he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. "For starters, why do you keep sticking your oar in when it's not wanted or needed?" he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"I'm just trying to help."

"We don't want or need your help, what part of that don't you understand?"

"Why are you doing what I suggested then?" the Doctor asked, raising his eyebrows.

Tom ran his hand over his face, trying and failing to control his temper, before whirling on the Doctor again. "What are you up to, huh?" he spat, face becoming blotchy with rage. "Are you setting some elaborate trap for the 2nd Mass or something?"

"I have no intention of making your children orphans," the Doctor snapped.

"You keep my sons out of this."

"If you want them to survive, I suggest you keep following my advice."

"Yeah, when hell freezes over," Tom retorted, before turning and stalking down the sidewalk.


	4. Prisoner Of War

**Prisoner Of War**

Darkness reigned, the moon nothing but a myth as Red-Eye carried Vivien through the ruins, followed by Scarface Sally and the others. They'd crossed paths with other contingents of creatures, a series of screeches being exchanged between each patrol, before heading their separate ways, a pattern that had been repeated through the long night, and whenever the ground shook, the silence shattered by a long piercing drone, they'd hidden in shadowed alleyways or the darkest bowels of underpasses.

Red-Eye slowed to a stop before lowering Vivien to the ground, watching as she pushed the tangled hair out of her eyes, bones aching as she stepped forwards, her forehead creasing in confusion. They were at the edge of a wide expanse of wasteland, the landscape ravaged beyond repair. In the distance, rows of warehouses reared out of the darkness, surrounding them on all sides. All was still, all was silent and there was no sign of the TARDIS anywhere. She turned to Red-Eye, but he and the other creatures were nowhere to be seen. Only Sally remained, her head tilted expectantly to one side, her ancient eyes filled with farewell.

Sally chittered softly before reaching out and gently stroking Vivien's cheek, the creature's claw alarmingly scraping her skin. Vivien reached out in return, gingerly, then gently, patting the creature's head. She still found Sally's maternal devotion to her slightly alarming, especially on such short acquaintance, but even as Vivien appreciated the risk these creatures had taken in hiding her, Sally had been the only one to show any real kindness towards her, as well as being the only one to stay and say good-bye.

The creature inclined her head, before turning and slowly walking away, her gait awkward, belying her advanced years. Feeling like the ground had been cut away from under her feet, Vivien then staggered towards the row of warehouses, figuring she had nothing to lose. The TARDIS had landed in a warehouse, so perhaps she was being kept prisoner in another. The creatures seemed to inhabit such places, so it made a sort of sense to keep what they stole close by.

But Vivien wasn't exactly sure what she was going to do if she found the TARDIS, especially if it was surrounded by guards. Create a distraction? Try and make off with a time machine she had no idea how to operate? Alright, the Doctor had let her loose on the console a few times, but it had been under his strict supervision, just in case she crashed them into the Cretaceous Period or something.

Crushing down her doubts, she continued to stumble towards the warehouses, every step feeling like she was walking on broken glass. Wrapping her arms around herself, the cold night air cutting into her, she rounded the side of the closest building, sticking to the shadows as she searched for a back door, or even a window she could break in through. To her relief, her search was short-lived, her gaze alighting on a bottle green door with its paint peeling off in long curling strips. Figuring she had to start somewhere, she reached out to turn the door-handle, hoping against hope it wasn't locked, bitterly thinking she could really use the sonic at this moment if it was.

Then she froze, the metal biting into the back of her neck.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, sweetheart," a man drawled, his American accent sugar-coating every syllable.

Vivien's hands dropped to her sides.

"Now turn around, nice and slow," the man then ordered.

Vivien did as she was ordered, biting her lip to stop herself saying something that would end up resulting in a bullet between her eyes. True to form, she found herself staring down the barrel of a shotgun, its owner looking her up and down like she was a piece of shit on his shoe, his lips curling up into a sneer.

"Well, blue-eyes," he said, tossing back his long brown hair with cruel confidence, "it's been nice meetin' ya."

Vivien just stared at him, and then the world went black.

* * *

"Do I look like I need a toilet break?" the Doctor said from between gritted teeth.

"I was just asking" -

\- "And I'm just telling you that I don't!"

Tom turned away from the Doctor, before running his hand over his beard, wishing he hadn't been so hasty in dismissing the Doctor's guards. Despite following the Doctor's advice in regards to the food run, the sight of him was still enough to make Tom's skin crawl. Ever since they'd set up camp on the outskirts of Acton, the Doctor's presence had continued to cause chaos. Although he'd been kept isolated, out of sight and under armed guard, people were baying for his alien blood, and it had taken all of Tom's tact to talk them out of committing carnage.

"I'm troubling your conscience, aren't I?" the Doctor asked abruptly, interrupting Tom's tumultuous thoughts.

"Why would _someone_ like _you_ trouble my conscience?"

"Look at your choice of words, Tom."

Tom just stared at him.

"I'm _someone _to you," the Doctor explained, his face solemn, "not _something_." Tom started to protest but the Doctor halted him with his bound hands. "You're the only one that's bothered to offer me food and water," the Doctor continued, "and you tried to stop those buffoons from kicking my head in. Now you're here, twittering on about toilet breaks. Can I make myself any clearer?"

Tom's mouth just opened and closed like a trapdoor.

"Where are you heading now, Acton Armory?" the Doctor then said conversationally, folding his hands in his lap.

Tom did a double-take. "How do you know about that?" Tom said, finding his voice again.

"Little pitchers have big ears," the Doctor said cryptically.

There was a long silence.

"I hate armories," the Doctor then said with distaste, "too many guns."

Tom just stared at the Doctor again. "What do you want?" Tom exploded, feeling like he was being played like a violin. "What are you angling for?"

"My pocket."

"Your what?"

"My pocket, Tom!"

Against his better judgement, Tom stooped down, searching through the Doctor's pocket as he'd demanded, his worn fingers closing round a strip of paper that crackled as he pulled it out, the Doctor averting his eyes away from the past.

"That's Vivien," the Doctor said, pain filling his face as Tom glanced down at the passport booth photos taken so long ago during happier times. Despite the top hat tilted over one eye, Tom recognized the Doctor immediately, but the girl perched on his lap, pulling a series of ever more ridiculous faces as the pictures progressed on, was a complete stranger to him.

Yet as he studied her, she seemed oddly familiar, despite being so far from him. He ran his thumb thoughtfully over the crumpled paper, smoothing out the wrinkles. She wasn't pretty, but he was caught by her vivid colouring; the long ebony hair, crimson lips, ivory skin and indigo eyes making her seem like she had fallen straight out of the pages of a fairytale, Snow White torn from her once upon a time.

"Your friend?" Tom asked, glancing up at the Doctor.

"Just my friend."

"She looks like a bit of a live-wire," Tom observed dryly.

The Doctor exhaled sharply through his teeth. "You have no idea," he said.

Tom raised his eyebrows questioningly, but the Doctor offered no further information, so Tom left, heading outside instead. Nodding at several passing soldiers and civilians, Tom then slowed to a stop in front of the old Chevy, giving its battered bumper a fond pat, before leaning against the parked pick-up, studying the strip of photos he was still clutching in his hand, Vivien's ridiculous face pulling making him grin despite himself. Nearby, Click was showing Anthony how to spar, ducking and diving like he was Mohammed Ali, his voice carrying through the night, Hal, Karen and Dai cat-calling and wolf-whistling in appreciation of his display, killing time until they headed out to the armory.

"Hey, Mason," Weaver called, startling him. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yeah, sure," Tom said, grin fading as Weaver stalked towards him.

"It's about that bastard beatnik," Weaver said, face grim. "I've been hearing tales of you sneaking food to him and such, dismissing his guards so you can have a cosy tête-à-tête with him. Care to explain what that's all about, eh?"

"Porter told me to keep him alive," Tom said, trying to keep his temper, "so I can't exactly let him starve, can I? And as for dismissing the guards, I was trying to get him to loosen up a bit, you know, so we could talk and... stuff."

"Talk and... stuff?" Weaver echoed, raising his eyebrows.

"Never mind about that," Tom said abruptly, "_we _need to talk."

Weaver's jaw tightened. "About what?" he growled.

"The Doctor knew about us making plans to head for the armory."

There was a long silence.

"Loose lips sink ships, Tom," Weaver then said with some difficulty.

"I never said anything about the armory in front of him," Tom snapped. "But someone else did."

Weaver's jaw tightened

"We also spoke about the food run in front of him," Tom said tensely, "and he gave us that advice" -

\- "Which you followed."

"But we ended up with a truckful of food, food we desperately needed," Tom argued. "If we hadn't done as he suggested, we'd have been worse off than if we hadn't."

"So what are you saying? That we trust him?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying," Tom said tiredly, "it's just we need to watch what we're saying around him, for better or worse."

"Nobody's marrying him, Mason."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"To talk in front of him though... that's an oversight we should know better to avoid," Weaver then said slowly, straightening his skip-hat. "It's letting him gather intel and God knows where that's going."

"But nothing happened on the food run."

"You said there were problems."

"Yeah, some Skitters and a Mech, but we were expecting that anyways. It doesn't mean it had anything to do with the Doctor though."

Weaver just looked at Tom, before sighing heavily. "We need to be better than this. All of us. We're letting standards slip."

"I know," Tom said quietly, "I know."

Weaver studied Tom for a moment before gesturing to the photos in his hand. "What's that you got there?" he said gruffly. "Contraband?"

Tom hesitated before reluctantly holding out the strip of photos to Weaver, who took them, brow furrowing.

"Who's the Mad Hatter?" he asked, brow furrowing even further.

"The Doctor."

Weaver snorted in derision. "So that's the girl, then?" Weaver then said, jabbing his finger at Vivien's spectacularly gurning face.

"Yeah."

"Not much of a looker, is she?"

"Does a good Jim Carrey impression though," Tom tried to say lightly, taking the pictures back.

Weaver just harrumphed. "Why did he give you these pictures anyways?" Weaver then asked, brow furrowing even further as he glanced between Tom and the photos like he was watching a tennis match at Wimbledon.

Tom glanced up, grin fading. "I'm not sure," he said uneasily, wondering where Weaver was going with this. "He says she's just his friend, but who knows?"

"Well, I'm not letting you take a team out there. Hell will freeze over before that happens."

Tom just looked down at the pictures again, dark eyes thoughtful, the hint of a grin playing on his lips.

"That girl," Weaver said suddenly. "What exactly is she to him, the Doctor I mean."

Tom glanced up, surprised. "I'm not sure," he said slowly, wondering where Weaver was going with this. "He says she's just his friend."

"They seem pretty cosy to me."

"What do you mean?"

"She's sitting on his lap, for chrissake."

Tom just looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Maybe you'd prefer it to be your lap," Weaver said, straightening his skip-hat again.

Tom was startled, then angry. "Oh really?" he said dangerously, standing up, taking a step forwards.

"Yeah, really."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Look at yourself, Tom, clutching these goddamn pictures like some Homecoming Queen and her crown at high school prom," Weaver snapped. "That girl is a Skitter-siding bitch who could bring hell down on the 2nd Mass, and you're smiling like someone's just slipped you a happy pill!"

Tom just shook his head, completely speechless, before turning and stalking over to the others, Weaver watching him go.

* * *

John Pope's miscellany of thugs and hoods strode through the access tunnels, faces grim and unrelenting in the harsh light of the bare bulbs that barely lit their way. His brother, Billy, had the girl slung over his shoulder, his grey eyes gleaming at the prospect of fresh female meat, traitor or otherwise. Pope wasn't interested in shit like that; he preferred his women willing. But as far as the chick they'd picked up at the armory was concerned, he just wanted to know what the hell she was doing backstabbing the human race before he put a bullet in her brain.

When he and his gang had seen her being carried through the ruins by the cooties, they'd just yawned, thinking they were witnessing another harnessing kidnapping. As long as it wasn't their kids being taken, they didn't care. But then things had gotten interesting, the main cootie setting the girl on her feet before scuttling off, followed by his little green friends, one remaining behind, exchanging some sort of _good-bye_ with the girl, before disappearing into the darkness as well. Then the girl had made a beeline for the armory, and that's when Pope had gone after her, sensing there was some sport to be had.

Up close, he'd seen she wasn't a girl after all, but a woman, about twenty or so, not bad looking underneath the dirt, but no beauty either. Even with a shotgun trained on her, ready to blow her brains out, she'd stood her ground, eyes burning like blue fire in her filthy face. Girl had guts. He had to admire her for that. Then Whitey had pistol-whipped her, and here they were, bringing her back to their lair, Pope and his partisans more than ready for the games to begin.

As they entered the auditorium, Vivien blearily opened her eyes, only to find the world the wrong way round. As her brain struggled to catch up with itself, it slowly registered she was slung over somebody's shoulder, every jolt making her pounding head explode with pain. Confusion reigned, and then reality came rushing back, making her heart swoop alarmingly in her chest with panic. She started to struggle, the somebody telling her to can it, making her struggle even more. Then teeth were biting into the back of her bare leg, deep enough to make her cry out in pain, the sound muffled, choked by the gag in her mouth.

"Billy, behave," Pope drawled, Vivien recognizing him as the one who'd had his shotgun trained on her.

"She ain't, so why should I?" Billy jeered, the others laughing at his lame wit.

Then his hands were on her, wandering like spiders over her flesh, and she lashed out, trying to strike him with her fists and feet, but her wrists were bound, her ankles tied together, rendering her assault ineffectual. Unconcerned, Billy carried Vivien down the rest of the aisle, before flinging her onto the floor in front of a stage, her head connecting with concrete, stunning her into submission.

The men gathered round her as she lay there, anticipation filling the air. A girl, with long dyed blonde hair dark at the roots, got up from the front row of seats, a rifle slung across her back, face unreadable as she surveyed the unfolding scene.

"Margaret," Pope said, sweeping her a low bow.

"Maggie," she said, her voice a monotone.

"So you keep saying," Pope said, rolling his eyes.

Maggie turned away, hiding her hatred.

Pope studied Vivien for a moment before suddenly stooping down and grabbing a hank of her hair, viciously jerking her upwards. "Hello again," he drawled, before throwing her down onto the ground again. Then he was on top of her, tearing what was left of her camisole in half, exposing her back. "Not harnessed, eh?" Pope spat, standing up. "And all the signs point to you acting at your own volition..." He booted her savagely in the side, making her cry out in pain. He knelt down so he was almost but not quite nose to nose with her. "You know what I hate more than a cootie?" he asked, voice low and dangerous. "A cootie siding human, that's what."

Vivien just stared at him, blue eyes blazing.

"If you're too old to be harnessed," Pope continued, ramming his face further into hers, "what are you to them? A pet? Maybe something a little more... intimate, shall we say?" -

Vivien suddenly headbutted him, her forehead smashing off his nose. He reeled back with a sharp cry, clutching his face, blood pouring out from between his fingers. She went sideways, seeing stars, Maggie standing out for some strange reason amidst the whirling landscape, something like satisfaction oddly flickering in her dead eyes.

"Stick her in the fucking Bird-Cage!" Pope gasped, Whitey and Cueball dragging him over to the front row of seats, forcing him to sit down as Billy picked Vivien up, before carrying her up the stage steps like a bride over the threshold, one of the other men clambering up onto the platform, flinging open the entrance to a cage that was about five feet tall and five feet wide, its floor splattered with dark bloodstains. Vivien was shoved inside, body crashing against the bars. Then there was the sound of a key being turned, and as though from far away, she remembered the TARDIS key hanging from its silver chain around her neck, freedom falling through her fingers.

_Woken up like an animal_  
_Teeth ready for sinking_  
_My mind's lost in bleak vision_  
_I tried to escape but keep sinking..._


	5. A Stubborn Tide

**A Stubborn Tide**

The night had passed in a nightmarish whirl, Vivien's sleep broken by stomping metallic feet and gunfire. She'd thought she'd heard the sound of a dog barking in the distance, before dismissing it as a waking dream. Somebody had tried and spectacularly failed to storm the armory, provoking Pope to take a number of his partisans out, armed to the teeth. Now the next morning, they stood huddled in a far corner, listening as Pope held court, his voice low and urgent as he waved his arms around like a conductor, his rings flashing in the faint light.

Vivien watched them through the bars of her cage, but despite straining her ears, all she'd been able to make out was the word, _meadow_. Since this had made no sense to her, she'd instead concentrated on putting names to faces, then faces to ranks. Pope was obviously the leader, long-haired and long-nosed, fancying himself as some sort of rocker in his leather jacket and tight trousers combo, Billy, Pope's younger brother, his longish, greasy, dirty blonde hair half tied up at the back, wearing a grubby white vest and leather trousers that creaked horribly when he moved.

Whitey and Cueball were Pope's deputies, the former with a long handle-bar moustache and skip hat, the latter fat and balding, wearing a long black leather coat that made him look like a Matrix cos-player. But what interested Vivien most was the blonde girl dressed in a leather jacket slung carelessly over a black vest and dark denim jeans, with silver hand-guns at her hips and a rifle across her shoulder.

Pope had called her Margaret, his tone that of an exasperated parent, the others not following his example, referring to her as simply Maggie. But even though she walked amongst them as one of their number, she held herself apart, enduring Billy's wandering hands with a bland smile, her eyes dead in the white mask of her face as Cueball whispered intimately in her ear, his arms encircling her waist. Maggie watched Vivien in turn, but she kept her distance, never drawing any closer than the front row, always sitting in the end seat, rifle angled across her body as she stared at the girl in the cage.

But what Vivien hated most was the sight of the dead creature, its remains on display like some sort of sick trophy. Vivien knew a war was being waged, but there was a fine line between fighting for survival and sadistically enjoying the struggle. It might be a case of kill or be killed, but it didn't give anyone the right to desecrate the dead, alien or otherwise. Seeing its still spider-like legs and rotting eyes made something tear in the fabric of her soul, ripping her further apart inside, reminding her that this is what she would become.

* * *

Tom collapsed down into the armchair, wrapping his arms around his head. It was just screw-up after screw-up, the expedition to the armory having descended into chaos. Jimmy shouldn't even have been out there with them. He should have been tucked up in his bed, not out in the dark with his damned dog, a boy doing a man's job. But at the same time, he was needed, the same way Hal and Karen were needed, yet more kids playing at war.

He got up, going over to the bed instead, throwing himself down onto it, not bothering to take off his jacket and boots. To Tom's disquiet, Weaver had quartered a whole house for Tom and his sons, and the younger Masons had wasted no time in making it their own, Matt especially, the little boy laying claim to every toy and game in sight. As for the bookshelves heaving with Harry Potters and Manga, Ben would have...

Tom ran his hand over his beard, scrunching up his eyes, fighting the tears. Ben wasn't here, and there was no use in pretending that he was. All they could do was keep searching, hoping against hope to find him again. Exhaling sharply, he forced himself to sit up, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, resting his hands on his knees as he pulled himself together. Then he stood up, making his way over to the makeshift desk he'd set up for himself by the window. It had once been a dressing table, but he'd cleared it of its ornate French mirror and fancy cosmetics, replacing the matching spindly stool with a wooden chair. It was where he'd taken to writing his journal, the sight of the distant stars never failing to raise his spirits. Even after they were long gone, the ghost of their light still burned on, fighting the darkness.

Trying to capture events for posterity had been a habit picked up when he'd first started teaching history. Fancying himself as the next Samuel Pepys, he would scribble down his day with considerable wit – or so he fancied. But then the world ended, the pages of history being torn to pieces, forcing Tom to drop his delusions and start writing seriously, one man recording the human race's struggle for survival. Even when he didn't feel like documenting the day's happenings, he always sat down and forced himself to.

Tom leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he should go and turf Karen out, when he heard the front door slam, signalling her departure. He sat there, listening to the stairs creak as Hal returned to his room, the door clicking softly shut, the sound muffled by distance. Tom never quite knew when to treat Hal as an adult or as a child. Father and son fought alongside each other, risking their lives for the resistance, but Tom never let Hal have Karen stay the night, nor did he approve of them sneaking off to snatch a few stolen moments together. Tom always seemed to be walking in on them at the most inappropriate times, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. He didn't want to stand in the way of young love, but as a father, what else could he do?

He exhaled sharply, wishing all over again his wife was here. Rebecca would know what to do, like she always knew. She'd understood Hal in a way he couldn't, always attending the lacrosse games and dinners that had bored Tom stiff. If you'd told Tom twenty years ago he'd have a jock for a son, he'd have just laughed in your face before burying his head in a history book again. But that was life all over, unpredictable and mercurial, none more so than nowadays, the shock of the world ending still hitting him like hammer blows.

One of these hammer blows was the Doctor. Whenever Tom thought he was close to understanding the alien, the Doctor took a sudden left turn that sent Tom spiralling into the depths of ignorance again. And the whole concept of an alien that looked and sounded human; an alien that was _born_ so, still knocked Tom for six every time he looked at the Doctor. Logically speaking, humans were just as alien to the Doctor as he was to them, but even with that in mind, Tom still couldn't wrap his head around it all. But that had been before. _But God now... _

Tom lowered his arms from his head, before pulling out the strip of photographs from his pocket, holding them up to his face as he studied their battered state, half wondering at what worlds they'd been carried to, imagining where they'd been. As ever, his gaze dwelt on the girl, studying the way her ebony hair fell across her face like the night sky, taking in the defiant tilt of her chin and her wild eyes, his heart unknowingly betraying him.

A few miles away, almost a world apart, Pope and a few of his most choice comrades sat on the edge of the stage, doping up and downing beer as they shot the breeze together. Vivien was huddled in the middle of her cage, her shoulder burning from where Billy had just stubbed his cigarette out on her as though she were an ashtray.

"Hey honey," Whitey called over. "Wanna a cognac?"

They all exploded into laughter, all but Pope. He stared at Vivien, eyes inscrutable as he studied her. Then he got up, tossing his hair back, his sycophants falling silent as he approached the cage.

"How's it hanging?" he said quietly, voice devoid of mockery, only hate. "Missing your green friends? Ain't the ickle cootie up there keeping you company?"

Vivien just stared at him.

"There's no use trying to play the innocent, blue-eyes," Pope said. "We saw you with them, practically skipping along hand in hand together."

"Where's your sense of loyalty to the human race, girl?" Cueball bewailed to his beer bottle, completely stoned.

"Maybe she needs to learn how to love her fellow man," Billy leered as he came up from behind Pope, the sight of him making Vivien want to vomit. Earlier on, he'd flung beer over her, as well using her cage as a urinal, piss splattering the bars. "Have a little one-on-one instruction, yeah?"

"Sit down, Bills," Pope said, something like a warning hidden in his words.

"Spoilsport," Billy muttered, but he went and sat back down all the same.

Pope looked at Vivien for a long moment, and then he turned and went back to the others, leaving Vivien alone with her fear.

_It's said I run like a stubborn tide_  
_Unstoppable, untamed and wild_  
_But a brave face isn't brave I've learned..._

* * *

_She waited, shrouded in shadow, the walls pulsating like a heart around her, flickering beats of crimson, amber and gold. Yet despite the heat of the colours, it was cold here, as cold as the blue of the box standing in the centre of the room. She watched as they_ _circled the box like a predator did with its prey, their limbs like pincers, eyes like stones. But the box kept her doors barred against them, her shields up, systems stilled. But she didn't stand alone. Vivien stood with her, unseen but still there, silent in the shadows - _

Vivien jolted upwards, a gasp escaping her lips, silenced by her gag. Then she slumped against the bars, heart thundering in her chest, feeling as though she had fallen from a great height. She was still here, still trapped. But at the same time, she hadn't been here; she'd been somewhere else, still trapped, but not subdued. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. But all she could recall was a flash of blue that made her heart ache.

Sitting up, she opened her eyes again, ignoring the painful clenching of her stomach and the rawness of her throat. So far she hadn't soiled herself, but she didn't know how long that boon would last. She didn't know how long _she_ would last full stop. Being a hybrid made her slightly more durable than the average human, but only just. Then something shifted in front of the bars, making her head snap up, every inch of her on high alert.

But it was just the blonde girl, Maggie, sitting on the edge of the stage, her back turned to Vivien. She was downing a beer, before wiping the back of her hand roughly across her mouth. Vivien lost interest. Pope had rallied his gang together, leaving Maggie behind to guard Vivien as they set out en masse to God knew where. That's when Vivien had fallen asleep, drifting off to another world. But to where, she didn't know, only wishing she could go back. There she could fight, here she could only surrender.

Vivien buried her face in her arms, her body propped up by the bars, the past became the present, macabre thoughts filling her mind, imagining her corpse being left to rot in the cage, her head mounted up on the wall like a trophy, her fingers being worn as a necklace by Pope alongside his 'cootie' claws. She didn't want to die like this, on her knees, stinking of beer and piss, humbled and humiliated -

Something poked her in the side, making her jolt upwards, eyes flying open. It was Maggie, impatiently holding out a bottle of water. Vivien's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I'll take that gag off if you promise not to bite me," Maggie said quietly, her voice distinctively husky, every word slowed down and span out.

Vivien studied the other girl for a long moment, before nodding, wondering what the catch was. Maggie gestured for Vivien to come closer. Clenching her teeth, Vivien leant the side of her head against the bars, Maggie carefully pulling the fabric down, before unscrewing the lid, and sliding the bottle through the bars. With some difficulty, Vivien picked it up, hesitating before hastily necking it down, the water slopping down her front.

"Some nice moves back there, busting Pope's nose like that," Maggie said, startling Vivien. "Where did you learn that particular parlour trick?"

Vivien stared at her for a moment before recovering herself. "It was instinctive," she croaked, lowering the bottle from her lips. "There's just something about Pope's face that makes me want to smash it in."

Almost against her will, Maggie grinned, whilst all the while watching Vivien with hooded eyes, like she was weighing something up in the balance. "Is it true then, that you're with the cooties?" Maggie asked suddenly, making Vivien freeze.

"No, it's not," Vivien spat, slamming the water bottle down.

"Bullshit."

"Then why ask?" Vivien fired back. "If you believe I'm with them, why suggest otherwise?"

Without another word, Maggie just reached through the bars, yanking Vivien's gag back into its original position, before snatching up the water bottle and stalking off, her high-heeled boots clicking across the stage, the sound echoing around the auditorium.


	6. The Enemy's Enemy

**The Enemy's Enemy **

"Watch my leg, man!" Billy shouted from somewhere unseen, his voice echoing oddly, making Vivien glance up, every inch of her on high alert. Maggie stood up, readying her rifle as the double doors at the back of the auditorium flew open, smashing off the walls, Pope and his partisans pouring through the doorway, Cueball and Whitey carrying a heavily bleeding Billy between them, the others dragging in five strangers, their faces hidden by the black cloth bags flung over their heads.

Vivien crawled forwards, clutching the bars of her cage as the five strangers were forced to walk blind down the aisle, hands bound behind their backs, guns aimed at their heads, before being shoved into several front row seats, Cueball and Whitey carrying Billy up the steps and onto the stage, Pope hard on their heels. The rest of his gang surrounded the strangers, training their weapons on them, Maggie hesitating before whipping the bags off their heads in quick succession, revealing their faces.

Three of the strangers were young, two not much more than teenagers, the boy dark-haired and dark-eyed, scared but trying to hide it; the girl blonde and pretty, with her long hair tied back in a messy ponytail, face defiant; the other in his early twenties at least, with cropped hair and dark skin, his brown eyes filled with rage. The other two men were older, one in his thirties, Vietnamese, handsome with high cheekbones; the other about forty, overly tall and awkward, looking like he could do with a good scrub and shave.

But it was he who held Vivien's attention, making her sit up a bit straighter in order to see him better. He was no beauty, with an unkempt beard, messy dark hair and a long face with an equally long hawk-like nose, his skin pale beneath his ruddy tan. His dark gaze darted around the auditorium, reminding her of a bee trying to escape out of a closed window, buzzing hopelessly against the glass. Almost against his will, he glanced at the cage, only to do a double-take, the sight of the girl staring back at him through the bars making him freeze in his seat, his spine stiffening.

Somehow knowing without knowing, Tom knew it was her, the girl in the picture, the ghost the Doctor had been chasing. Her dark hair fell around her filthy face in a knotted tangle, her clothes nothing more than rags barely covering her soot-stained skin, making her look oddly Dickenesian. Yet all the same, it was _her_, her eyes blazing like blue fire, bridging the distance between them. Tom fell back in his seat, feeling like somebody had just dealt him a mortal blow.

"Think he'll pull through?" Pope was saying, his voice shaking as he smoothed the hair off Billy's face, Maggie looking away, eyes suddenly alive with revulsion.

"The view ain't lookin' good from where I'm standin', man," Whitey said morosely, "he's bleedin' like a stuck pig."

"Bastard's probably nicked an artery," Vivien spat through her gag before she could stop herself.

"Can it, bitch," Pope snarled, getting to his feet.

"Hold up," Whitey said hastily, grabbing Pope's arm, "slut's right, but he's not nicked the artery - he's severed it."

"He bled out?" Vivien said, becoming drawn in despite herself.

"Yeah," Whitey replied, his eyes narrowing. "Bled out already."

"Well, use your belt and bind his leg tight," Vivien instructed, hating herself for helping. But that was the Doctor's influence on her, an influence she sometimes railed against, but always surrendered to in the end.

To everyone's surprise, including hers, Whitey did as she said, hastily unbuckling his belt and yanking it out of his jean loops, before quickly strapping it around Billy's thigh, Cueball taking it as his cue to step in, hastily rifling through his rucksack and pulling out a packet of suspicious looking white powder. As he proceeded to dope Billy up, Pope got to his feet, taking his sweet time about it, Tom and the others watching wide-eyed as he swaggered over to the cage, pausing dramatically before suddenly springing forwards, ripping Vivien's gag off, almost enjoying her gasp of pain.

"_Bastard_," Vivien hissed, hunching over.

"This isn't _Catch Me If You Can_, Red-Coat," Pope drawled, fiddling with a ring in his finger as he spoke, twisting it round and round in circles, "so unless you really _are_ a board-certified micro-surgeon, I suggest you shut your trap."

"I might not be an expert," Vivien said from between gritted teeth, "but I bet I know more than your _homeboy_ over there does" -

Pope slammed his fist into her face, busting her mouth.

"I _told _you to _shut _your _trap_," he said quietly before turning and crossing the stage again. Vivien slowly raised her spinning head, blood leaking out of her mouth, her stare slamming into the stranger's again. Something flickered behind his bland gaze, something she couldn't decipher. The closest she could get to understanding was that he was trying to see past her, through her almost.

"Any of you medical personnel, fix my brother?" Pope asked as he descended the stage steps, gesturing almost carelessly to Billy behind him. They just stared at him, united in mutinous silence. "No?" he said, shaking his head. "THEN WHAT GOOD ARE YOU!?" But again, they just stared at him, still silent, unshaken by his shouting. Pope stared back at them, before grinning suddenly, slapping his hands together. "So where you from?" he asked casually, moving towards the front row as he spoke, making Tom and the others instinctively shrink back in their seats. "Where you from?" Pope repeated, rolling his eyes.

"Cambridge," Tom said quickly, too quickly.

"And how are things in... Cambridge these days?" Pope said, looming over Tom, who lowered his head, as though he was cowering in fear before Pope. But his gaze furtively found Vivien's again, making her sit up and focus on him afresh, sensing his display of fear was just that, a display meant to decieve.

"Worse than they are here," Tom replied, still staring at Vivien, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Can't be any worse than where I am," Vivien retorted, stung by his stare, blood choking her words.

"Ignore the parrot," Pope ordered, his gaze flickering over Tom and the others. "So what are you, family?" Pope then asked, gaze dwelling on Anthony and Dai in particular, eyes becoming filled with disdain. "Well, obviously not all," he said in a loud theatrical aside, much to his gang's amusement.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Vivien snapped before she could stop herself.

"Like I said, ignore the parrot," Pope said, rolling his eyes again. "So are you family or what?"

"No," Tom replied, dropping his gaze to the ground. "Just came together a couple months ago."

"You part of some resistance?"

"No, just a group of people trying to survive."

"Then where'd you get the weaponry?" Pope asked, stooping down, forcing Tom to look at him.

"Dead cops. National Guard," Tom said in a rush, trying to cover his lies with a cloak of false terror.

Pope studied him for a second, before standing up and surveying them all again, glancing over his shoulder at Vivien in her cage. "So altogether my haul consists of a lobsterback cootie slut," he said, before turning back to Tom and the others, pointing at them all in turn with a theatrical finger, "Papa Smurf, a sexy freedom fighter girl, a strapping young fellow and two men of _colour_, three if you include Click the corpse back at the armoury."

"Screw you!" Vivien spat as Anthony lunged forwards, only to be slammed back in his seat by Maggie.

"Whoa, see we've got hands across the world over here," Pope said sarcastically, picking up a sword propped against the stage. "How ironic, considering whose side you're on."

"Oh, just piss off!"

"Uh oh, someone's getting a little stir crazy," Pope said in a sing-song voice, swinging his sword like a golf-club as he ascended the stage steps. "Want me to put you out of your misery, Red-Coat?"

Vivien just spat on the stage, teeth bared, Maggie watching the scene unfold with oddly glittering eyes.

"_Ohhh_, you're just asking for it, aren't you?" Pope growled, before suddenly charging at the cage, sword half raised, Vivien throwing herself backwards against the bars despite herself.

"NO!" Tom shouted, almost against his will, making Pope falter and then stop. He turned around, brow furrowing, before descending the stage steps, sword still half raised, Tom swallowing hard as Pope approached him as stealthily as a panther.

"You say something?" Pope asked quietly, tilting his head to one side.

Tom just looked at the ground again, the others shifting nervously in their seats. Vivien clutched the bars of her cage, heart in mouth.

"She runs with aliens, buddy," Pope said scathingly, "and anybody that runs with aliens deserves to be run through with a sword. Question is, does the sword deserve such a fate? Personally, if I were a sword, I wouldn't want all that traitor blood tarnishing my blade, that's for sure."

Still Tom stared at the ground.

"You run with aliens, Cambridge?" Pope asked.

Tom shook his head mutely.

Pope studied Tom for a long moment before suddenly swinging the sword through the air, the blade arcing towards Tom, swift and sure, the others screaming, Vivien's hoarse cry cutting through them all. Then the sword stilled, inches from Tom's pale face. Pope just laughed, long and loud, his partisans joining in.

"Just messing with ya," Pope grinned, lowering the sword before bringing it back up again, lightly tapping Tom on each shoulder like he was knighting him, making Tom tense up. "Arise, Sir Papa Smurf!" As Pope played to the crowd, Tom's gaze met Vivien's again, something silent passing between them._ The enemy's enemy is my friend,_ Tom remembered from far away as Pope knelt down before him, leaning on the sword handle with a careless grace. "You see, I'm figuring since you're the only one willing to speak up," Pope said, his voice low and confidential, "that must mean you're their leader."

Tom swallowed hard, trying to stand his ground.

Pope jerked his head at Vivien. "You her leader too?" he asked, racheting the tension up even further.

"Never seen her before in my life," Tom lied.

"Be glad that you haven't," Pope replied, before suddenly dropping his sword and pulling his gun out at the same time, pointing its barrel at Tom's head. "Say farewell to your friends, Cambridge," Pope said quietly, "it's gonna be a long walk home." His finger curled around the trigger, Tom scrunching his eyes shut, Hal and the others shocked into silence, unable to move or breathe.

"Don't!" Vivien cried, voice cracking. "Please don't!"

"And why's that, bitch?" Pope said, sounding bored.

"Just... just don't, alright!?" Vivien pleaded, flinching at how feeble she sounded.

"Just... don't?" Pope parodied, raising his eyebrows.

Vivien threw a desperate glance at the other members of Tom's group, jumpstarting Hal back to life.

"We can get you more guns," Hal said quickly, making Pope glance sharply at him, then Tom, making the connection between them.

"How?" Pope then said, lowering his gun. "I thought it was just you and your little rag-tag gang of ragamuffins, a bunch of complete strangers thrown together by fate." He waggled his hands like he was on Broadway, making his men laugh again, the sound echoing around the auditorium.

"We're the resistance," Hal said, trying to stand his ground. "Part of the 2nd Massachusetts."

"The what?" Pope scoffed, glancing at Tom whose shoulders were now hunched up to his ears, looking like he wanted to strangle Hal for spilling the beans. Pope then stooped down, so he was eye level with Tom once more. "The 2nd Massachusetts?" Pope sneered. "Revolutionary War? And here we have a red-coat pleading for an American militia member's life." Pope shook his head to himself, Tom's shoulders hunching even further. "So what's the deal with the historical re-enactment? Is it all fife and drums and tri-cornered hats, or is that just wishful thinking on my part?" Pope fired at Hal as he stood up, stowing his gun away.

"No, we have guns," Hal repeated.

Pope stared at him for a long moment before suddenly springing forwards, grabbing Hal by the scruff of his neck, hauling him out of his chair and throwing him to the floor, the others lunging forwards, only to be restrained by Pope's men, Tom shouting _NO! _as Pope rammed his foot down on Hal's windpipe, making Hal jerk and choke.

"What you have, boy, is a .50-cal mounted on the back of a GTO," Pope fired at Hal, who stared up at him, eyes bulging in his beetroot face. "You also have a hundred and something soldiers and fighters shacked up in these fancy-ass mansions and two hundred civilians camped out in the big meadow nearby, a regular Tent City," Pope continued, applying further pressure to Hal's neck, making him splutter. "And you know how I know that? Because I've been watching your little resistance movement" –

\- "For God's sake, let him go!" Vivien cried, grabbing the bars of her cage. "He's just a bloody kid!"

Pope studied her for a second before suddenly pulling out a knife and kneeling down, flipping Hal onto his front and straddling him like a horse, Tom lunging forwards again as Pope grabbed a hank of Hal's hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. "Say sayonara to your son and heir, Papa Smurf," Pope drawled, pressing the edge of his blade against Hal's jugular. "Nobody can say I didn't play fair with you."

"You're not playing fair," Vivien said quickly, her voice cracking. "In fact, you're playing stupid."

"And how so?" Pope said, rolling his eyes.

"Because if you want that .50-cal like I presume you do, you're going to need them alive to get it."

"Explain that one to me, sweetheart," Pope said, bestowing a mocking grin on her.

"You said this 2nd Massachusetts had a hundred and something armed soldiers and fighters, plus two hundred civilians," Vivien said, struggling to keep her voice steady, "and how many people do you have? Two dozen or so at the most? Even with guns, I think the odds are stacked against you. So here's a handy hint - _bargaining chip_."

Pope looked at his partisans for help, but none was forthcoming. Even they couldn't argue with her logic. He hesitated before reluctantly lowering his knife from Hal's throat. He got to his feet, hauling Hal to his own, Tom and the others just sitting there, faces shellshocked, Tom's gaze riveted on his son. Pope gestured at Vivien with his knife, looking as though he was going to stick the blade between her ribs, but he didn't, slitting the rope binding the boy's wrists instead.

"Nobody's going to die tonight," Pope then said with some difficulty, waving his knife at Tom and the others, "nobody except Machiavelli in the cage there, but the rest of you, you're all way too valuable, do you get me?"

Nobody answered him.

"Never mind," Pope said, rolling his eyes again. "Here's what we're gonna do - we're gonna make a deal. You lot for the .50-cal on the back of that car."

Tom just shook his head, jaw clenched.

"It's a deal, Pope," Vivien said quickly, angry at the stranger's stupidity.

Pope eyed Vivien oddly. "Margaret?" he then called, Maggie stepping forwards, flinging her hood over her head. "Please escort young Prince Charming here back into town so that he can bring the terms of our deal to the supreme allied commander of the 2nd Massachusetts."

* * *

The Doctor sat down opposite Weaver, a vast expanse of lace tablecloth dividing him from the human. With some difficulty, he'd been removed from the outhouse and herded into a palatial mansion that looked like it had fallen from the pages of _The Age of Innocence. _The grandeur of the residence insulted the Doctor. It was as though it had put on its best clothes in expectation of impressing him, only to fail miserably. He lived in a police box that was bigger on the inside. How could any house compete with that?

Yet it was the mansion's egregious opulence that angered him most, especially when he noted that it was only Weaver and a few of his most trusted co-horts occupying its many rooms, the rest lying empty. The sick and vulnerable were huddling in tents and makeshift shelters in the meadow nearby whilst Weaver and his men lived the high life here, with warm beds and a roof over their heads.

Weaver stood up, his chair scraping cruelly across the polished floorboards, making the Doctor wince in sympathy for the floor. With hunched shoulders, Weaver strode over to the sideboard, before pouring himself a glass of Scotch. He damned well needed it, what with two hundred hysterical civilians to deal with, not to mention a hundred or so mutinous soldiers and fighters on top of that.

"Nightcap, Dan?" Mike asked from where he was standing by the window, concerned about the sheer amount of alcohol Weaver seemed to be consuming on a now nightly basis - not that Mike could blame Weaver for needing a crutch. They all needed something to prop them up. Some had family, friends, or memories of them at least. Weaver had nothing, so he hit the bottle instead.

Weaver glanced at Mike, torn between annoyance and guilt. Mike was one of his best fighters as well as one of his most trusted men, but right at this moment, Weaver was wishing Mike was a million miles away. Putting distance between himself and Mike, Weaver walked unsteadily back over to the dining table, coming to a halt just beside the Doctor, making the alien raise a querying eyebrow, Weaver ignoring him.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the front door, making everyone but the Doctor look up in surprise as the sound of raised voices drifted in from the hall, then Anne was being escorted into the dining room, Mike and the other armed guards hastily assuming sentry position. Anne glanced around her nervously, slightly taken back by this display of military might.

"How can I help you, Dr. Glass?" Weaver said impatiently, nursing his glass of Scotch with a slightly shaking hand.

"I just thought of something that could help improve the conditions of the civilians," Anne said in a rush, Weaver resisting the urge to roll his eyes as she launched into a monologue about Stockton and nuked housing, his thoughts drifting, gone with the wind...

"Captain! Captain Weaver!"

Weaver raised his head, Anne whirling around as Hal burst into the dining room, Mike and the other armed guards reaching automatically for their guns.

"What the hell's going on?" Weaver demanded. "Where's your father?"

"Being held hostage, along with the others," Hal said, catching his breath. "Bastards sent me here to parle over terms for their release."

Weaver slammed his glass down on the dining table, the amber liquid splashing over the sides, splattering the lapels of the Doctor's torn suit.

"Do you mind?" the Doctor spat.

Weaver cuffed the Doctor round the head, knocking him sideways.

"Oi!" the Doctor protested, making Hal stare at him, then at Weaver, then at the Doctor again. Weaver just stared at Hal, wrongfooted.

"What is it, son?" Weaver asked urgently, shooting the Doctor a suspicious look.

"Him," Hal said shakily, pointing at the Doctor. "I mean the girl, the girl that was with him, the one that we thought got blown up in South Boston - she's there, at the auditorium, I mean, I think it's her - she's English and the guy said he saw her with the Skitters - well, if it's her, she's there, with Dad and the others."

There was a long silence, then the Doctor suddenly sprung to life, lunging out of his chair, making for the door, Weaver jumping him from behind, Anne retreating into a corner, hand flying to her mouth as human and alien struggled, the others throwing themselves into the fray. But the Doctor broke free of them, hurling himself past Hal –

A gunshot rang through the air, stilling, silencing.

Weaver and the others fell back, Hal just rooted to the spot, stunned as the Doctor looked down at himself, eyes widening with almost wonder at the sight of the dark blood seeping through the side of his suit jacket. Then his legs gave way beneath him. He tried to catch himself by grabbing the edge of the dining table, but he collided with it instead, collapsing to the ground in a heap of stripes and sideburns, eyes rolling back into his head as Mike lowered his gun.

* * *

"So what were you?" Pope suddenly asked Tom, startling him. "You know, before?"

Tom raised his head, considering Pope's question before answering almost reluctantly, "I taught history, BU," his gaze drifting across the stage before coming to a rest on Vivien. With Click dead and Hal gone, the others being dragged out of the auditorium and into the access tunnels instead, Tom had been left behind, trying and failing to hold it together.

"History? What kind of history?" Pope said, cracking open a beer. "The Sumerians on up?"

"American."

Silence.

"So how's the resistance going?" Pope then asked, raising the bottle to his lips.

"Just getting started," Tom said clippedly.

"Really?" Pope scoffed. "You actually believe that fairytale?"

"I do," Tom said with quiet certainty.

"History buff such as yourself ought to know better," Pope pointed out, taking a sip.

"I taught the American Revolution. You know how that turned out."

"Yeah, but is that the right - what do you call it? -_ analogy?_" Pope said, brow furrowing. "Instead of the aliens being the red-coats..." Pope said, glancing at Vivien, "...well, we still have red-coats, but that's beside the point" -

\- "Well, if you don't see any hope" -

\- "Why don't I eat a gun?" Pope guessed, brandishing his beer bottle like a pistol. "Well, I'll tell you this, Cambridge, and this may come off as a little insensitive to the ninety percent of mankind that's already gone to the grave, but the arrival of these creatures is the best damn thing that's ever happened to me..."

As Pope prattled on, Tom's attention drifted, his gaze locking with Vivien's once more. She frowned at him, but he just looked at her, dark eyes darkening even further, his stare steady, steering her to stiller waters. Fingers curling round the bars, she stared wordlessly back at him, and for a long moment it didn't matter what she was, or whose side he was on, and then Pope spoke, breaking the spell.

"Sorry to interrupt love's middle-aged dream," Pope said sarcastically, startling Tom, "but why do you keep watching her?"

"Watching who?"

"The slut shacked up in the cage, that's who, dumbass," Pope retorted. "Ever since you've come in here, you've barely been able to keep your eyes off her. If you're not on the same side, why are you so... involved, eh? Or are you just sweet on her or something? If so, your taste in women leaves much to be desired, my friend."

Tom just stared at Pope, standing his ground, the tips of his ears reddening despite himself, Vivien hastily looking away, not liking where this was heading.

"Y'know, my brother's already sampled some of her dubious charms," Pope said with mock gravity, his words sickening Tom to the stomach. "But if you play fair with the .50 cal, I might - and I mean _might _\- throw her in for free, seeing since she's damaged goods."

"That pile of damaged goods is actually one of our operatives," Tom spat, making Vivien freeze.

"Oh really? Then why did you deny seeing her before?" Pope said, his eyes lighting up dangerously at this new turn of events.

"That's irrelevant," Tom snapped, sidestepping the question.

"If you can't explain that, maybe you can explain why your 'operative' is running around with cooties," Pope continued, setting down his beer. "Or maybe the answer to that is in the word 'operative'."

Silence

"She's a double-agent," Tom then said, pretending to sigh heavily. "She feeds false information to the Skitters" -

\- "Cooties, you mean."

"She feeds false information to the enemy," Tom amended, "and she relays intel back to us about them. But somewhere along the way, she screwed up, and..." His voice trailed off as his invention gave out, "and, uh, well, here we are."

"You went out looking for her?"

Tom nodded, not sure where this was going.

"Thought you were out on a gun run though?" Pope said lightly, too lightly, picking up his beer again.

"We were killing two birds with one stone, trying to find weapons" -

\- "And your woman," Pope finished for him, taking another sip of beer, playing along now. "I get it now, the whole secrecy thing. You were trying to protect the mission, yeah?"

Tom just looked down at the ground, sensing the situation was now starting to spiral out of his control.

"I _knew _you knew each other," Pope said, "the whole rushing to each other's rescue all the time sort of gave the game away, buddy."

"I know," Tom said, not daring to look at Vivien who was still dumbstruck.

"She's ballsed up, big time, bro, leading you to my palatial mansion like this," Pope said, sitting back in his seat. "Nearly got your boy Sweeney Todded there."

"Well, she has a history" -

\- "Of making monumental mistakes? Then why send her on a secret mission amongst what you call the Skitters?"

"Wasn't my call."

"I bet it wasn't," Pope snorted. "She's right in the shit-hole, now, isn't? And I don't mean being here, I mean with you. You're looking like you could tear a strip off her."

Tom bit his tongue, before bowing his head. It was more like he wanted to tear a strip off Pope, but he let it slide - for now.

Pope nursed his beer, his gaze drifting over his now unconcious brother, before coming to a rest on Vivien, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "You want to taste freedom again, Red-Coat?" Pope said suddenly, making Tom raise his head in surprise.

"Fuck. _You_," Vivien said with uncharacteristic clipped precision, rage returning her to life.

He just shrugged his shoulders as though to say, _c'est la vie_. Then he got out of his seat, before swaggering towards the cage as though he had all the time in the world. Vivien frowned as he approached, before flinching as he suddenly slammed his beer can down on the edge of the stage, Tom watching, wondering if Pope really would...

Pope pulled out the key to the cage, holding it aloft like a trophy. He then suddenly ascended the stage with a spring, and before Vivien realised what was happening, he was unlocking the cage door. But as he turned the key, his eyes met hers, an unsettling gleam in his gaze, making her realize that he was only letting her out of this trap so she would fall into another of his setting.

He held the cage door open for her, sweeping her an elaborate bow as he did so. "Your humble servant, my lady," he said, eyes flashing with sadistic enjoyment as he took out his knife, carelessly cutting the rope binding her hands and ankles together.

Vivien hesitated, disbelieving, before stumbling forwards, legs numb, bare feet encrusted with scabs and dried blood, her battered body hunched over as she hopelessly tried to hold her ripped camisole together. As she raised her head, her eyes met Tom's, and the pity in his gaze made her jaw tighten, silently telling him to shove his sorrow up his arse.

Then, much to their mutual surprise, Pope peeled off his grubby blue and green checked shirt, revealing a sweat-stained grey vest and heavily tattooed muscled arms underneath. Without a single mocking word, he handed the shirt over to her. Snatching it off him, Vivien hastily put it on, buttoning it up with shaking fingers, Tom averting his eyes as she did so, Pope turning his back on her, surprising her all over again.

Once she was decently dressed, Vivien then just stood there, wrapping her arms around herself, not sure what to do next, rage slowly rising in her at the state she'd been reduced to, and as Pope turned back around to face her, she dropped her gaze to the ground, not wanting him to see his downfall in her eyes.

"Drop the demure act," Pope said, rolling his eyes, "you're not fooling anyone, kid."

Vivien's jaw tightened, but she held her tongue.

"Take your carcass over there," Pope then ordered, jerking his head over at where Tom was sitting, "and no funny shit, or I'll put a bullet between those big blues of yours. Savvy?"

Vivien didn't move.

"Well, go on then," Pope prompted, a nasty grin spreading itself across his face. "Go ahead and see your old man."

With trembling legs, Vivien crossed the stage, wincing as her flayed feet padded down the stage steps. As she approached the stranger in the front row, she made a split decision there and then. Her life was on the line, and he was the only card she had to play. If she wanted to get out of this alive, she had to run with what she had, even as it threatened to explode in her face.

"Hey nerd, long time no see," she said quietly.

Tom just stared at her before catching himself."You have a cheek to talk," he replied, trying to sound convincing.

Vivien just raised her eyebrows at him before forcing herself to move forwards, feeling Pope's suspicious stare boring into her back. Not sure what to do next, except that she had to somehow convince Pope she was with the 2nd Mass, she sat down on the stranger's lap, Tom tensing up, repulsed but manfully trying to hide it and failing miserably.

"Jesus, you smell like a brewery," he said, wincing.

"Just shut up and enjoy the show, sunshine," she hissed, running her hand across his beard in a way that made him want to run a mile, frightened she was going to take this further than he was prepared to go.

"I - I was so worried about you," he whispered, trying to halt her in her tracks by playing along with the pantomime. "When you didn't come back... I - I thought you were dead, that they'd found out..."

Vivien nearly laughed out loud at this, but she controlled herself. "Did you miss me, then?" she whispered back, flashing her bloodstained teeth at him. Tom just nodded, or tried to anyways, looking so trapped and revolted, that she lost it, something like hysteria hitting her as she burst into hyena-like laughter.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" Tom snapped, glancing nervously at Pope who was now sitting on the stage steps, watching them with narrowed eyes as he nursed his beer with both hands.

"At you, idiot, for being so goddamn ridiculous," Vivien snapped back .

He just looked at her like she was mad, which she supposed she was now, and no wonder. Maybe he should try a day in her life some time, see how he liked it. Choking down her hysteria, she leaned her forehead against his, before amping up the act and running her hand through his dark hair, hoping he didn't have dandruff or something worse, whilst wondering how much longer she would have to participate in this farce.

"I can't believe this is happening," Tom muttered under his breath.

"Blame your animal magnetism, buddy," Vivien muttered back from between gritted teeth.

"You old dog," Pope called over, making Vivien lift her head. "Never thought you had it in you."

"Neither did I," Tom said dryly.

Pope eyed Vivien critically. "She's no beauty, though, is she?" Pope said brutally. "But beggars can't be choosers, not nowadays, eh, Prof? Any port in a storm and all that crap."

"You know what they say, love is blind," Tom said, shrugging his shoulders.

"And power is an aprodisac, sweetening the deal," Vivien countered smartly, bestowing a savage smile on Tom.

Pope let out a low whistle. "Got shot down there, big style, buddy," Pope said, swigging his beer.

"No, I've always known she didn't want me for my good self, but rather what I could give her," Tom lied.

"Well, what do you expect? You're twice her age, man. Still, can't blame her for trying to get by, especially in these scoundrel days," Pope said. "I mean, for me and my boys, it's a whole different story. We're not getting by - we're having the time of our lives, man. Finding your little princess should have been the icing on the cake, another blow to Cootie Central, except it turns out she's batting for the humans - or so you say. Either way, I don't like having my parade rained on, Professor, but I'll let it slide, this time."

Tom just inclined his head, Vivien marveling at his self control.

"So what's it like, then, dealing with the cooties?" Pope then fired at Vivien. "Do they make your flesh crawl? Give you the heebies when you have to high-five them?"

But before Vivien could frame a lie, Billy suddenly screamed, making them all jump. The next thing Vivien knew Pope was aiming his gun at her, his finger curling around the trigger.

"Get your rump into gear, Red-Coat!" Pope yelled, throwing himself down beside the writhing Billy as Vivien shakily got to her feet, exchanging a helpless glance with Tom. "Well, fucking get to it!" Pope bellowed, making the pair jump violently.

"Keep your hair on," Vivien muttered mutinously as she hastily clambered up onto the stage, before crouching down beside Billy, wondering what the hell she was going to do. For all her big talk, she wasn't a doctor. All she knew was scraps; bits and pieces bitterly acquired through hard experience, most of them irrelevant to what was happening here. She'd already done what she could for Billy; she didn't think she could do anything more for him, not that she wanted to, remembering his hands wandering over her like spiders, his teeth sinking into her flesh.

Trying to look like she knew what she was doing, she dipped her fingers into the bowl of water beside Billy, before shaking them dry, futilely wishing for hot running water and soap, maybe even a fluffy white towel. Against her better judgement, she glanced up at the stranger again, and as his eyes met hers, she realised with a jolt that he saw through her front, reading her like an open book. Tearing her gaze away from his, she forced herself to slide her hand behind Billy's head, using it to support his neck, choking down her revulsion at having to touch him, before picking up a blue cup and holding it to his pale lips, tentatively trickling water down his dry throat, bitterly wishing it was bleach instead.

"Is it bad or wicked bad?" Pope demanded, his voice cracking.

"Oh it's wicked bad, bro," Billy croaked, spluttering slightly as the water went down his throat the wrong way.

"Do you want me to load you up again?" Pope asked, reaching for Cueball's rucksack.

"Yeah, man, dose me up, dose me up," Billy pleaded.

Pope started riflling through the rucksack, pulling out various bags and bottles of powders and pills. "Give him some more of that vodka," Pope ordered, chucking a syringe over his shoulder.

She just stared at him, confused, before realising he meant the blue cup, the one she had thought was filled with water. Cursing herself for her incompetency, she raised Billy's head again, tilting the cup against his lips once more, Billy gulping it down gratefully. "He - he needs a doctor," she said shakily, "this - this isn't the answer."

"What else am I supposed to do, bitch?" Pope snapped, squinting at the label on a half empty pill bottle. "Kick back with a beer and watch him die?"

"You can't dose him up again, not with that shit," Vivien spat, "or he'll end up OD'ing."

"Don't you think I know that?" Pope retorted. "Cueball gave him enough to knock out an elephant, man. I'm surprised he even came round. But then again, you're always surprising me, ain't ya, Bills?" he fired at his brother.

"I'm the King of Surprises, man," Billy slurred, "the fucking Santa Claus of them."

Pope looked at his brother for a long moment, his mouth trembling. "Okay, if this isn't the answer, what do we do instead?" Pope demanded, turning to Vivien, his eyes glinting dangerously as he studied her, almost like he knew she was lying.

"We need to check for an exit wound," Vivien said, thinking fast, her stomach churning, "to see if the bullet's still inside his body."

"That means turning him over, yeah?" Pope said, looking less than happy at the prospect.

Vivien resisted the urge to say _duh, _clenching her teeth instead as she then tried to roll Billy over, making him scream in agony before passing out with the pain. The next thing she knew, Pope's fist was hitting her face, knocking her sideways, her head smashing off the stage, Tom flinching forwards. With some difficulty, she sat up, gingerly running her fingers over her throbbing face, wincing as they met the jutting ridge of her cheekbone.

"Get the hell over here, bitch!" Pope hollered, his voice echoing around the auditorium.

Cursing him under her breath, she crawled on her hands and knees back over to Billy, hatred for him and his brother threatening to overcome reason.

"Right, we're rolling him over, Red-Coat," Pope said, flexing his fingers theatrically. Between them both, they managed to turn Billy over, Vivien feigning to examine his still bleeding thigh with an expert eye.

"It's alright, there's an exit wound," Vivien said from between gritted teeth as they turned the now Billy onto his back again.

"So what's the problem?"

"Like I said, the bullet's clipped the artery, severing it," Vivien parroted, repeating what she had said earlier. "A tourniquet isn't going to be enough to stop the bleeding."

"We know that," Pope snapped, the strain making the veins in his neck bulge, "what else is up with him?"

"I - I think there's internal bleeding," Vivien stuttered, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth.

"Well, deal with it then," Pope said, looking at her as though she was an imbecile.

Vivien just gawped at him. She'd now completely and utterly exhausted her expertise. But then the doors at the back of the auditorium crashed open, making them all look up, only to see Maggie directing two people down the aisle, her silver hand guns trained on their backs, black cloth bags flung over their heads, their hands held out in front of them, hopelessly trying to feel their way forwards. Pope slowly stood up, face changing from white to red to purple as he pulled out his own gun.

"_Ohhh_, this does not look like it's gonna make me very happy," Pope said to Maggie. "Tell me you have that GTO in the parking lot, or I am gonna be very disappointed."

Instead, Maggie, cool-as-you-please, whipped the bags off the pair's heads, revealing Hal and a striking, if slightly, grubby looking woman in her mid thirties, her long dark hair falling to the small of her back, a satchel slung across her chest. Pope just stared at her, looking like he was going to strike something - or somebody. He wanted weaponry, not some woman for chrissake.

"I'm a doctor," Anne said, speaking directly to Pope. "I might be able to help your brother."

Vivien ran her hands down her face at this, all but slumping onto the stage in relief.

"What kind of doctor?" Pope demanded, striding down the stage steps towards her.

"The only one you've got," Anne said with quiet defiance, her gaze travelling over Vivien, almost but not quite ignoring her, before resting on the groaning Billy lying on the stage. "Is that him?" she asked, impulsively stepping forwards, lifting her satchel over her head as she moved. But Pope grabbed her arm, halting her, his jaw tightening.

Anne stiffened, but she stood her ground. Eyes narrowing, Pope suddenly snatched the satchel from her fingers, before rummaging roughly through its contents, Tom watching with worried eyes. Sensing his stare, Anne glanced over her shoulder at Tom, their gazes locking and holding, the air suddenly becoming electric, hinting at a hidden passion.

"If I fix him, will you let us leave?" Anne then asked Pope as he shoved the satchel back into her hands.

"If you fix him, I'll let you live," Pope spat, grabbing Anne by the scruff of the neck and steering her up the steps and onto the stage, before giving her a violent push in Billy's direction, making her stagger, Tom flinching forwards again. Anne recovered her balance, rage rising in her, rage she quelled with coldness. This wasn't about her, it was about Tom, about bringing him back alive. She made her way towards Billy, only to finally falter at the sight of Vivien.

As Anne hesitated, Vivien glanced up, her eyes very big and very blue amongst the filthy landscape of her face, making Anne involuntarily recoil. Nobody human had eyes that blue, the sight of them shocking her to the core in the same way the discovery of the Doctor's two hearts had. Forcing herself to focus, Anne hastily knelt down beside Billy, all but shouldering Vivien out of the way as she checked him over, feeling his pulse, listening to his chest, all too aware that Lourdes would be doing the same for the Doctor amongst the chaos back at base.

As Anne worked, stitching up the severed artery with cold precision, Karen, Dai and Anthony were led back into the auditorium, Cueball and Whitey forcing them to sit down in the front row again, Maggie shoving Hal into the seat beside Tom. Peeling off her plastic gloves, Anne then started bandaging up Billy's thigh, only for him to suddenly jolt awake, making Anne and Vivien reel back in shock.

"What the hell happened!?" Billy bellowed, face bewildered.

"Easy, easy," Pope cajoled, shoving Vivien aside as he knelt down beside his brother.

"What's going on, man!?"

"Calm down, it's alright," Pope said, holding his brother down as Anne taped the bandage in place, her face back to being a blankly beautiful mask. "Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman here just stitched up your artery. She's stopped the bleeding, bro."

Billy didn't look convinced.

"You're gonna be okay, Bills," Pope said, slapping Billy on the shoulder, before standing up and shrugging on his leather jacket.

"Where are you going?" Billy asked, even more confused.

"To rob the 2nd Massachusetts of all their worldly wealth, baby brother," Pope leered, pretending to twirl an imaginary moustache like a pantomime villain.

"I'm coming with you, then," Billy said, trying and failing to sit up.

"You're sitting this dance out," Pope said, jabbing a beringed finger in Billy's direction. "We'll bring you back a nice blonde though." Maggie scoffed at this, turning away so Pope couldn't see the hatred in her eyes.

"What, you seriously expecting me to miss out on all the fun!?" Billy said incredulously.

"I need you here to hold the fort."

"What about the cootie slut?" Billy demanded, his gaze falling on Vivien, finally registering her presence. "Why ain't she in her cage?"

"Turns out she's with the 2nd Mass," Pope said, sounding bored, no longer really caring what was truth and what was a lie. "Double agent extraordinaire by day, warming their great bearded leader's bed at night. Don't kill her unless you have to, and only if I'm here. I don't wanna miss out on the fun."

Tom shrank down in his seat, avoiding Anne's eye.

"I ain't got no intention of killing her," Billy said, licking his lips, eying Vivien like she was a slice of beef, "not with a body like that." Vivien just stared coldly at him, holding her ground, bile rising in her throat.

Pope rolled his eyes, before turning and leaving, snapping his fingers for the others to follow him, Maggie and Cueball remaining behind to keep guard. A silence fell, Billy glancing up at Vivien again, his gaze roving voraciously over her, making her skin crawl. Suddenly, as swift as a snake, Billy lunged forwards, grabbing her bare thigh, fingers digging into her flesh, making her scream in shock and pain, Anne scrambling backwards, scattering medical supplies to the wind.

"Hey!" Tom hollered from the front row, Cueball cocking his gun at him as he tried to get out of his seat, but all Vivien could focus on was Billy's bruising grip on her leg, panic and terror completely overwhelming her. Just as suddenly, he let her go, laughing as she frantically dragged herself away from him, over to where Anne had retreated, just next to the cage.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," Billy said, lazily scratching his armpit, "I ain't gonna bite ya."

"You already did," Cueball grinned, making Maggie's fingers flex.

Billy's brow furrowed. "So I did," he recalled, studying Vivien with an unsettling gleam in his eyes, "and you taste as good as you look, girl."

Vivien spat on the stage, her face feral in the flickering gloom.

"Oh, I knew I'd like you," Billy said, licking his lips again. "I am gonna enjoy breaking you in, bitch, and when I'm done, I'm gonna _break _you, _nice _and _slow_."

"Fuck you," Vivien whispered, hiding her shaking hands behind her back.

Billy just grinned wolfishly, his attention then switching from Vivien to Anne, his gaze travelling over the other woman, appraising her like an item at auction. Then he shook his head, dismissing her. "No offence, sweetheart, but I like them young, y'know?" he said to Anne, sounding almost apologetic.

Anne looked away, repulsed. Billy just guffawed, before glancing over at Tom and the others, his gaze dwelling on Karen instead, his face hardening at the sight of her.

"Get up," Billy ordered.

Karen just looked at him, feigning confusion.

"He's talking to you," Maggie said wearily, her dead eyes boring into the blonde girl's.

But Karen remained seated, jaw tightening.

"I said, get up!" Billy shouted, getting angry now.

Karen looked at Hal, something passing between them. Then with great reluctance, she got to her feet.

"That's it," Billy said, looking her up and down. "Now turn around, I wanna see what we got."

Karen turned slowly on the spot, her face reddening with rage, lips pressed together like she was trying not to say something that would result in a bullet between her eyes. Vivien watched the sickening tableau unfold, feeling like she was going throw up, unable to say anything, completely crippled by her own fear.

"Look at you," Billy said, letting out a low whistle, "you are a pretty one. Between you and our lil English rose here, the three of us are gonna have ourselves a real good time, y'know that?"

Karen exchanged another look with Hal, his face despairing, hers almost but not quite pleading, pride propping her up, Vivien nearly vomiting there and then. Maggie stood up, turning to face the stage, her face pale, almost ghostly in the growing gloom. "Hey," she said, making Anne look at her in confusion, not sure who the woman was addressing, whether it was her or Vivien.

"I'm talking to you," Maggie said, aiming her gun at Anne, making Tom tense up. "Is Billy gonna live?"

"What?" Anne said, even more confused.

Maggie just looked at her like she was an imbecile.

"I - I mean, yes, if his wound doesn't get infected," Anne stuttered, recovering herself.

"Why are you asking her that?" Billy started to ask before being suddenly silenced by a bullet, the gunshot rippling through the air, Anne and Vivien throwing themselves to the floor as Maggie whirled around, shooting Cueball through the chest, silence falling, drilling into Vivien's skull.

"After they grabbed me three months ago," Maggie said brokenly, her voice echoing in the still silence, "Billy... well... let's just say he deserved to die." Maggie stared at Cueball's corpse, her eyes dead and distant. "Cueball thought he was better because he brought chocolates." Silence. "He wasn't." She bit her lower lip, looking like she was going to break down and cry, before regaining control of herself, smiling sarcastically at them all. "One nil," she said, stowing her guns away, "_one nil_."

_All you have is your fire_  
_And the place you need to reach_  
_Don't you ever tame your demons_  
_But always keep 'em on a leash..._


	7. Latrodectus Mactans

**Latrodectus Mactans**

As the others sat there, stunned, Maggie suddenly turned her gun on Vivien, making her freeze in fright.

"Get up," Maggie ordered.

Vivien slowly got to her feet, heart in mouth.

"Don't do this, Maggie, you're better than that, than them," Tom said quietly, struggling to stay in his seat, scared any swift movement would make her open fire.

Maggie just ignored him, all her attention riveted on Vivien. "I don't know who you are or what you are," Maggie said slowly, "but the next time you try to break Pope's nose, you better try harder, or even better, break his neck. Got it?"

Vivien nodded, her jaw tightening. Maggie studied her for a moment before finally deigning to lower her gun, something in Vivien's silence satisfying her.

"Dad, we don't have time for this," Hal hastily interjected, exchanging a glance with Anne, both silently agreeing this was not the time to tell Tom the Doctor had been shot. "Weaver's evacuating everyone to a factory nearby, but God knows how that's going to go down if Pope gets to them and that GTO first."

"Then we better get moving," Maggie said smartly, pulling out her knife before striding towards Tom who stood up somewhat nervously, still unable to believe what Maggie had just done. "Don't look so scared, big boy," Maggie said, rolling her eyes as she cut him loose, "I'm not going to Sweeney Todd you - yet."

Tom just raised his eyebrows, trying to keep his cool so nobody could see that she was scaring the pants off him.

"What about Click?" Anthony asked quietly as Maggie finished cutting the rest of them free.

"We'll come back for him, I promise," Tom said, his voice cracking, "but right now, we have to deal with Pope."

"You're forgetting your girlfriend," Maggie said dryly, jerking her head at Vivien. "You bringing her along to meet your folks or what?"

Tom ran his hand hopelessly over his beard, sensing this was going to get nasty. As though to prove his point, Vivien suddenly sprang to life, doing a runner. Tom tore after her, his long limbs giving him the advantage, the others scattering as he grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her middle, pinning her to him. The next few moments saw mayhem ensue, Vivien twisting and turning, trying to sink her teeth into him, Tom swerving and swaying almost comically, cursing her as he did so.

"You seriously bringing that back with us!?" Hal said incredulously.

"Yeah, I am!" Tom bellowed, nearly losing his balance.

"For God's sake, somebody get us some rope!" Dai hollered, rushing forward, trying to help Tom pinion Vivien's arms behind her back.

Hal dashed off to find some, but Karen was quicker on the draw, binding Vivien's wrists together, before doing her ankles, diving out of the way as Vivien tried to kick her in the face. Maggie threw herself into the fray, hastily gagging Vivien, barely avoiding getting her fingers bitten off, Anthony throwing one of the black cloth bags over Vivien's head, hiding her contorted face from sight. Then Vivien was being swung off her feet and over Tom's shoulder, her body thrashing wildly as she drummed her bloodied bare feet into Tom's back.

"Would you stop that!?" Tom shouted, Vivien simply kicking him again for good measure.

"I can see who wears the trousers in your house," Maggie said, smirking a little, "and it sure as hell ain't you, Cambridge."

* * *

"Come on, Tom!" Dai shouted, sticking his head out of the pick-up window.

"Yeah, we've got Pope's filthy ass to kick to kingdom come," Maggie hollered from the back of the pick-up, "and we're not going to do it sitting out here like a bunch of dames at a Daughters of the American Revolution re-enactment."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Tom bellowed, feeling every one of his forty years as he crossed the lot, Vivien slung over his shoulder like an old carpet, unaware that he was being watched from the shadows by ruby-red eyes glimmering in the moonlight.

During the frenzied preparations of loading up the pick-up with ammo and weapons, he'd taken Vivien backstage, before setting her down on her feet and removing the bag from her head. She'd lunged at him, and he'd ducked, rugby-tackling her against the wall, saying from between gritted teeth that he just wanted to talk to her. She'd fallen still, and he'd fallen silent, not sure what he was going to say after all. And what could he have said anyways? He could hardly apologise to the enemy, could he? She might have bought them some time with her bargaining skills, but he'd saved her from Pope as she'd saved him and his, so they were even, yet this logic did nothing to stop the sense of unease slowly stirring his conscience into consciousness.

"The greater the difficulty, the more glory in surmounting it. Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests," Tom murmured to himself as he clambered into the pick-up cab, Hal and Dai exchanging raised eyebrows as he shifted Vivien into a more seemly position, trying to sit her decorously on his lap, Tom feeling like a dirty old man as he did so. "Sorry," he said to her, flushing horribly, "just... just hang on."

"Hang onto what, old man? You?" Hal said, rolling his eyes. "Her hands are tied behind her back in case you haven't noticed."

"It's more like you'll be hanging onto our resident double-agent," Dai added, kicking the engine into gear. "But I'm sure you'll enjoy that, oh great bearded leader."

"What, you think this is funny?" Tom spat. "You think I'm getting some sick thrill out of this? Click is dead and God knows what's going down back at base. This isn't the time for levity!"

Under the darkness of the black cloth bag, Vivien inwardly cursed the 2nd Mass to kingdom come, before coldly and deliberately leaning her head against Tom's shoulder, the gesture making Tom tense up, the others exchanging frightened glances.

"Whoa," Hal said, starting to get freaked out now. "Why did she just do that?"

"Think she fancies a taste of Tom?" Dai said darkly.

"Latrodectus mactans," Tom said before he could stop himself.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that, Professor," Dai said, pretending to frown.

"Latrodectus mactans, the venomous New World spider more commonly known as the black widow" -

\- "That's enough, Dad," Hal said hastily, "we get the picture."

"And what a picture," Dai said even more darkly.

Silence.

"Why are we going to ground anyways?" Hal said, changing the subject. "As soon as we set up camp anywhere, these things are on top of us like a duck on a June bug."

"The metaphors tonight are just killing me," Dai said dryly, "first Maggie with her 'dames', now you with your June bugs."

"Going to ground was never a feasible plan," Tom said tersely.

"So why would Porter issue such an order?" Hal asked.

"Because his back's against the wall."

"And so's ours now," Dai said.

"We can't hunker down and hope for the best, Dad," Hal said, brow furrowing.

"We were never going to," Tom said in a low voice that shook slightly, "not with Ben out there."

* * *

_Caught in a spider's web_  
_It's not the first time playing dead_  
_I see, I saw lovers undercover_  
_No one found out until we left…_

Shouts and gunshots greeted their arrival, the sound turning Tom's blood cold, thinking that it might be too late. Maggie and the others leapt out of the back of the pick-up, Hal and Dai hastily clambering out of its cab, Maggie shoving AK-47s into their arms, Anne disappearing into the darkness. Tom awkwardly set Vivien down on the cab seat, hesitating before removing the black cloth bag from her head, so she could breathe at least. Blinking rapidly, Vivien stared at him with baleful blue eyes, careful to keep the rest of her filthy face a blank mask.

Without thinking, Tom reached out his hand, tentatively smoothing her tangled black hair back. As he did, their eyes met, the world seeming to hang in the balance between them. And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him, locking her in. Vivien exhaled sharply, not even realising she'd been holding her breath. Dismissing her discomfort, she slid the flick-knife she'd stolen from Tom's belt, out from under the sleeve of Pope's shirt, flipping it open with a flourish. Under the cover of cosying up to Tom, she'd found a way to free herself. After all, didn't the Doctor say she could flirt her way out of anything?

But her triumph was short-lived, escaping easier said than done, time ticking past, Vivien's neck killing her from craning it so much over her shoulder. She glanced up as the racket of gunfire ricocheted around the trees, the sound now too close for her taste. Gritting her teeth, she tried to saw the blade back and forth faster, the hemp starting to split under the increased pressure. Focusing on the now fraying cord, she gave it a sharp twist or two, before finally breaking it in half. Sliding the rest of the rope from her aching wrists, she then tore the gag from her mouth, chucking it aside, before hacking the rope binding her ankles together.

Without wasting anymore time, she immediately started searching for the keys to the pick-up, ransacking the glove compartment, scattering maps and jigsaw pieces of all things to the wind. But there were no keys to be found. Usually Dai left them dangling in the ignition in case of the need for a quick getaway, but not this time. He had taken them with him, not risking leaving them within easy reach of an enemy hand.

In frustration, Vivien slammed the dashboard with her fist, furiously cursing the 2nd Mass as she did so. Hoping against hope, she tried the doors, but they were both locked, making something inside her crack. She booted the cab door with her bare foot, only to instantly regret it, agony shooting like arrows through her. Choking down a howl, she sat there for a moment, thinking fast through the pain. Folding the flick-knife up, she wrapped her fingers around it, using its hard handle to smash the window. It took a few tries of repeating slamming, but the glass eventually began to crack, before splintering and finally breaking.

Wincing slightly, she tried to clear away the broken shards still jutting out of the frame, cutting her hand in the process. Then she was sliding herself through the empty window, hanging onto the roof, teeth gritted, stomach sucked in, trying in vain to avoid what was left of the broken glass still sticking out, littering the seat and foot well. But despite her best efforts, narrow rivulets of blood ran down her legs and arms, tiny pin-pricks of glass becoming embedded in the bloodied soles of her feet.

Reaching back through the window, Vivien picked up the flick-knife from where she'd left it on the dashboard, before straightening up and surveying her surroundings. She was in some sort of clearing, trapped by trees on almost all sides, the sounds of battle still echoing through their branches. Turning on the spot, she studied the pick-up for a moment, exulting over escaping her prison, before hastily ducking down behind it as somebody unseen but close by hollered, _THIS WAY!, _fighters and soldiers suddenly emerging from the shadows, running past the other side of the pick-up, heading in the direction of the fight.

One of them slowed down, saying, _ain't that Tom's truck?_ But somebody up ahead bellowed at them to hurry up, making them speed on, much to Vivien's relief. As they disappeared amongst the trees, Vivien made to stand before freezing, caught in a ridiculous half crouch as the sound of wheezing filled the air, followed by mumbled cursing. Risking a peep, she raised her head, watching as the straggler, overweight and obviously too old to fight, dragged his feet to a halt, before bending over and clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack, Vivien heartily hoping he wasn't.

"Who's there?" the straggler suddenly shouted, startling her. "Goddamn show yaself!"

Vivien held her breath, not quite sure what to do next, or what exactly she could do. The straggler straightened up, panting as he peeled the strap of his rifle from his shoulder, raising it to eye-level as he circled wildly on the spot, trying to find his target. She crouched lower, trying to keep out of sight, not fancying a bullet between her eyes.

"I'm warnin' ya, I'm armed!" the straggler yelled, a fat finger curling around the trigger, beads of sweat dripping down his brow as he tried to conceal the panic colouring his voice. Almost automatically, Vivien's hand closed around a stout tree branch lying by her feet, blood pounding in her ears as she picked it up. Then she was creeping around the side of the pick-up, sneaking up on the straggler from behind...

But as she drew closer, she stepped on a twig, the sound of it snapping going off like a gunshot, making the straggler whirl around with surprising speed. Panicking, she suddenly brought the branch down on his skull, his chubby hand flying out to stop her but to no avail. For a long moment she stared at his body sprawled at her feet, shock coursing through her veins -

An explosion hit, flinging her backwards, a blast of blue light flooding through the trees, the ground shaking like an earthquake beneath her. Then all was still, the silence hitting her like an aftershock. She lay there for a long moment, before rolling onto her side, trying to work up the temerity to get up. Head spinning, ears ringing, she staggered to her feet, swaying on the spot like a drunken sailor, the silence now drilling into her skull.

She just stood there, unsure, her gaze falling upon the body of the straggler she'd struck, bile rising afresh in her throat. She'd just killed a man, his blood on her hands - The straggler stirred, a terrible groan escaping from him, making her jump violently. Then she sagged with relief that he was still alive. Rushing forwards, she hastily put him into the recovery position, struggling to manoeuvre his vast girth as she did so...

Vivien straightened up as she caught a flash of movement amongst the trees. Squinting, she struggled to make out what it was, whether it was human or not. Thinking it was better to be safe than sorry, she snatched up the straggler's rifle, raising it as the flash became a figure, a horribly familiar long-haired figure. As Pope drew closer, not seeing her at first, being too busy glancing over his shoulder as he ran, she tensed up, remembering all he and his had inflicted on her, and then he was there before her, skidding to a halt, hands raised in front of him at the sight of her raised rifle.

"Whoa!" Pope exclaimed, looking her up and down in disbelief. "I see you've gone native, Red-Coat."

"Shut the hell up, Pope," Vivien snapped, trying to look like she'd been holding a rifle all her life, instead of the last two minutes, "just stay where I can see you."

"Has your precious professor left you high and dry, princess?" Pope taunted, edging forwards despite her words. "If you want a real man, maybe you should think about teaming up with yours truly - we could take down Skitter Central together, you and me saving the world one dead cootie at a time."

"Yeah, when hell freezes over," Vivien retorted.

"Already has, sweetheart."

"I couldn't put it better myself," Weaver said dryly, stepping out from the shadows, his gun raised, lip bleeding, "now put your goddamn hands in the air."


	8. What We Are

**Author's Note:** _We All Fall Down_, featuring Hal and my original character Bethany, can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile, along with Tom and Vivien one-shots, _The Moments I Did Not Live_, _Odium _and_ Recombinant, _and the Alexis one-shot _The Darkness Within_.

* * *

**What We Are**

"You okay?" Hal asked, giving Vivien a dirty look, as though she, and not Pope, had been the one to assault Weaver

"Bloody bastard bust my trap when he knocked me down," Weaver growled, dabbing at his bloodied lip with a grubby hanky, "took me dirty, so he did."

"That seems to be Pope's style, sir," Anthony said darkly, thinking of Click.

"No honour amongst thieves," Dai said quietly, his thoughts running along the same lines.

"He should be goddamn strung up like one," Karen spat, her fists clenching by her sides.

"Never mind about him," Weaver said abruptly, looking round at them all, "we're evacuating everyone to this school, instead of the factory, and I want two of you lot to scout ahead," Weaver continued, his gaze dwelling on Hal and Karen in particular, "just to double-check the coast is still clear, especially after that Beamer attack. Any takers?"

Karen put her hand up in full expectation of Hal doing the same, but he didn't, Dai picking up the slack.

"Good," Weaver said, nodding in satisfaction. "The rest of you, with me, now" -

\- "Sir," Hal said, stepping forwards, Weaver stopping, confused

"Yes, son?" Weaver said, shoving his bloodied hanky back into his pocket.

"What about her?" Hal asked, jerking his head at Vivien.

"What about her?" Weaver echoed, brow furrowing.

"Are you seriously bringing her back with us?" Hal said, thinking of the error they had made in capturing and bringing the Doctor back to camp. "She was seen with the Skitters for chrissake."

Weaver's face turned crimson. "You challenging me, boy?" he said from between gritted teeth, trying and failing to stay calm, even though he shared Hal's doubts. "Well, I suppose the apple obviously doesn't fall far from the tree."

"I don't understand what you mean, sir," Hal said, understanding full well, his hackles rising.

"Understand this, son," Weaver spat, rounding on Hal, "what is it with Masons disobeying direct orders, eh? If you're not running off to save your father's academic ass, inveigling Dr. Glass and Mike in your outlandish scheme, going against everything I said; you're questioning my judgement over letting that blue-eyed cat out of the bag and bringing her back to base."

Hal's jaw tightened, everyone else pretending to be very occupied with their fingernails or something in the middle distance so they could avoid looking at him. Hal then just shook his head before stalking off, followed by Anthony and the others, Karen and Dai heading off to get their motorbikes. Left with Weaver, Vivien wrapped her arms around herself, trying and failing not to show her fear, the cold night air biting into her bare skin, making her fervently wish for a fleece, her resistance to the climate now beginning to run low.

Weaver studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, trying and failing to figure her out, before glancing over at Radnanski who was being loaded onto a stretcher, his fat face dazed, mouth slack. As he was carried away, Vivien watched him go with guilty eyes, before casting her gaze to the ground, avoiding the accusing stares of the soldiers surrounding her.

Brow furrowing, Weaver turned his back on her, ignoring the mouthful of abuse Pope hurled at him as he was dragged past by two fighters. Seeing Tom emerge from the distant treeline, Weaver hesitated before hollering _MASON! _making everyone within a ten feet radius jump violently, Tom's head jerking up in confusion. Weaver gestured impatiently at him to come over, Tom pausing before tiredly shouldering his rifle, feeling like he was about to fall sleep on his feet, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him.

"Hey, Cambridge," Maggie called, making Tom turn around.

"Hey," Tom said uneasily. "What's up?"

"It's about your honey-trap," Maggie said, glancing over at Vivien, "figured you might want a heads-up on her."

Tom studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Is she really with the Skitters, then?" he then asked as he tightened the strap of his rifle. "Or was Pope talking bullshit?"

"I don't know," Maggie said, shrugging her shoulders as she stowed away her own guns. "Pope went out the other night with the rest of his low-lifes, and came back with her, saying they saw her with a bunch of cooties, all cosy-cosy, like she was one of their gang."

"Nothing came after her?"

"Nope."

Tom studied her again, his brow furrowing even further. "You really want to earn your citizenship with the 2nd Mass?" he said suddenly, running his hand across his beard.

"Yeah, I do," Maggie said abruptly, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You got a problem with that?"

"No, I don't," Tom said coolly, "but it's not just about earning citizenship, but also trust."

"Trust costs," Maggie said just coolly, "and I don't think you can afford the price of mine."

Tom looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes becoming distant, only to start violently as Weaver hollered _MASON!_ again.

"Looks like Loverboy wants you," Maggie said smartly before stalking off, leaving Tom speechless. Pulling himself together, he headed over to Weaver, shoulders hunching, sensing a storm was about to break out over his head.

"Recognize this?" Weaver asked abruptly, holding out Tom's flick-knife.

Tom did a double-take. "What the" - he began, falling silent as his gaze fell upon Vivien.

"Do the math, Mason," Weaver snapped, shoving the flick-knife at Tom, who took it, rage rising in him, Weaver then leaving, his elbow clipping Tom's. Tom stood there for a second, staring down at the pearl-like pattern inlaid in the flick-knife's handle, before striding forwards, the soldiers parting to let him pass, reluctantly lowering their rifles as they did.

"What the hell you playing at, stealing my knife like that?" Tom demanded as he drew level with her.

"That sounds like a song," Vivien retorted.

"_Tom: The Musical_, it has quite the ring," Tom said sarcastically, stowing his flick-knife away.

"The latest stage sensation."

"Well, you can't beat Broadway, can you?" Tom countered.

"Does the wisecracking mean the lecture's over, then?" Vivien said, dropping her arms to her sides.

"No, the lecture's not over," Tom said from between gritted teeth. "I'll just continue it later."

"Oh, there's going to be a later then?" Vivien said provocatively. "I hope later includes a candle-lit meal and a bottle of your best wine."

"Shut up," Tom snapped, the tips of his ears turning crimson.

Vivien just smirked, satisfied she'd struck yet another nerve.

"Sir," a voice called, making Tom turn around. A fighter approached him, a young woman in her early twenties, stringy blonde hair falling around her freckled face. As she neared them, she held out a handful of rope to Tom. "Found some in an abandoned car back the way," she explained, firing him a gap-toothed smile as Tom took the rope from her.

"Well done, Heather," Tom praised, making her grin grow even wider. She saluted him before turning smartly on her heel and marching back into the crowd.

"See you got a little groupie there," Vivien said smartly.

Tom just ignored her, focusing on binding her wrists together instead, tying the rope more tightly than he preferred, but knowing he had to, noting the deep cut on her hand, echoing her earlier escape.

"I'm surprised," Vivien said, glancing at him and then the rope suggestively, "you don't look the type."

"How do you know I'm not?" Tom said in an undertone, his eyes meeting hers for a long moment. Vivien stared at him, wrongfooted by his reaction. She was expecting him to turn crimson, not a comeback. Tom just raised his eyebrows mockingly at her, before glancing up as Weaver yelled _MASON! _again, repressing a deep sigh as he checked the rope knots one last time, before stalking over to where Weaver stood by the pick-up, his face livid beneath the brim of his skip-hat.

"Look at what that little bitch did to the truck!" Weaver exclaimed, kicking the broken glass littering the grass.

Tom stood there, surveying the damage, rage rising in him again. He'd become not a little emotionally attached to the old red Chevy and Vivien violating it almost irrationally upset him, seeing it as a personal affront. "Bitch doesn't even cover it," he muttered, running his hand almost tenderly over the scarred paintwork.

"We'll need to get Uncle Scott to patch it up," Weaver said, clicking his tongue. "Don't see how he'll wangle it though."

"What about Jamil?" Tom said, dropping his hand to his side.

"Jamil who?"

"Big good-looking guy with dreadlocks," Tom explained, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Is handy with his hands. Knows his way around a tool-box."

"Civilian?" Weaver hazarded.

"Yeah."

Weaver digested this nugget of information for a moment. "Get Uncle Scott to take a look at the truck first," Weaver said, "and if he can't do anything, we'll try this... _Jamil _out for size."

Tom just nodded, struggling to subdue his annoyance. It always got to him the way Weaver dismissed anyone not in uniform, only tolerating the civilian-turned-fighters because civilians outnumbered soldiers ten to one, and he needed the muscle. "How's your lip?" Tom asked Weaver abruptly, before glancing over at Vivien, his eye catching hers, making his jaw tighten.

"I'll live," Weaver said just as abruptly.

Tom just nodded again, his gaze boring into Vivien's.

"Are you done eyeballing that piece of alien-loving ass?" Weaver said dead-pan. "Or should we bring out some chairs and make ourselves comfortable?"

"I'm just trying to keep tabs on her," Tom said tersely, turning back to Weaver.

"What, and it has to be you doing the tabbing?"

Tom looked away, knowing where this was going.

"I heard she stole your knife after cosying up to you," Weaver then said dangerously. "And I also heard you were getting up, close and personal with her in that auditorium."

"She saved my life, and she saved Hal's," Tom said from between gritted teeth.

"What, so does that constitute a PDA?"

"Hey, whilst she was putting her neck on the line for us, she was also trying to save the life of Pope's scumbag of a brother, even after he molested her. Explain that one, Dan, because I certainly can't," Tom snapped, rumpling up his dark hair, unaware the gesture struck Vivien right in the solar plexus, reminding her of the Doctor.

"She stopped Pope getting away," Weaver said, startling Tom.

"What?"

"She stopped Pope getting away," Weaver repeated, looking at Tom like he was an imbecile.

"I don't get it, Dan, I really don't," Tom said, pacing the ground now, running his hand across his beard. "What the hell is her game? Why is she helping us?" Against his will, he remembered the Doctor pulling the same stunt over the food run, the memory making his treacherous conscience twinge.

"None of that matters," Weaver said coldly. "You're going to take that blue-eyed bint, and keep her contained whilst we head to this new locale..."

As Weaver droned on, Tom's eyes met Vivien's again, brown upon blue, human against hybrid.

_Shotgun, aimed at my heart, you got one_  
_Tear me apart and then some_  
_How do we call this love _  
_I try to run away but your eyes_  
_Tell me to stay, oh why_  
_Why do we call this love_

* * *

Tom's hands gripped the steering wheel, almost for dear life, his knuckles turning white, his eye catching Vivien's again, before hastily looking away. The pick-up sputtered on at a snail's pace, following the convoy of vehicles driving through the morning dawn, the sunlight edging the world with gold.

"Thank you," Tom said suddenly, startling Vivien.

"For what?" Vivien said, brow furrowing.

"For saving my son."

This time it was Vivien's turn to look away. Tom studied her for a second, before staring out the grubby windscreen instead, feeling like one of the insects caught in the wipers, wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut. "You're just a hypocrite, you know that?" Vivien then said quietly, her gaze firmly fixed on the footwell. "You have no right to truss me up like a fucking Christmas turkey."

"Pope said he saw you with the Skitters," Tom flared up. "If that's not reason enough, I don't know what is."

Silence.

"So you playing the same game as Pope, then?" Vivien speculated. "Got a brother you're going to feed me to?"

"Don't be so goddamn ridiculous," Tom spat back, his stomach turning at her insinuation. "Nobody is going to hurt you, not on my watch anyways."

"Oh yeah, you're my great bearded leader," Vivien said, rolling her eyes, "how could I forget?"

"I mean it," Tom snapped. "Nobody's going to lay a finger on you, not in any sense."

Vivien studied him for a moment before looking away again. "If you really want to thank me, make it quick, will you?" she said tiredly. "I don't fancy dying in a long and lingering fashion."

"You're not going to die," Tom said, rolling his eyes this time.

"If your beloved 2nd Mass doesn't do it, the other lot will," she said, shrugging her shoulder. "Call me choosy, but I'll take a bullet over claws any day."

Tom glanced sharply at her. "Why would they hurt you?" he said, brow furrowing. "Where's the logic in that?"

Vivien looked at him like he was mad. "Why would they not?" she said in disbelief.

"You tell me."

"Where should I start, then?"

"From the beginning, where else?"

Vivien's jaw tightened. "Let's just say I know how Sarah Connor feels," she said cryptically, glancing out of the window.

Tom hesitated, trying to work out the Terminator reference, before it confusingly clicked. "What, they're _hunting _you?" Tom said in disbelief.

"Oh, round of applause," Vivien said, rolling her eyes again. "You win a stuffed dromedary."

Tom stared down at the steering wheel, trying to wrap his head around what she'd just said. "They're seriously hunting you?" he said, brow furrowing. "But that doesn't make any sense."

"What, and you think it makes sense to me?" Vivien spat. "I don't get it either."

"But Pope said" -

\- "Pope got the wrong end of the stick," Vivien said tiredly, "these... _Skitters_ he saw me with, they... they took me - kept me in a basement before letting me go, and don't ask me why, because I don't bloody know, alright?"

"But" -

\- "But what?"

"But what about the Doctor?" Tom said from between gritted teeth, the words being wrenched from him. "Did he abduct you against your will as well? Or did he just hypnotize you onto his spaceship?"

Vivien stared at him, all the blood draining from her face.

"Yeah, we have him," Tom said abruptly.

"Is - is" -

\- "He's alive," Tom said even more abruptly, "if that's what you're trying to ask."

Vivien looked out of the window again, her chin trembling, shoulders hunching.

Something about her stricken profile made Tom shift guiltily in his seat, before staring at the winding road ahead again, trying to marshal his thoughts together. "Look, it's... it's not that I don't believe you," he said slowly, "it's just I don't know what to believe."

"I'm not here to hurt anyone, Tom," Vivien flared up, the sound of his name on her lips making him tense up. "If you're going to believe anything, believe that."

Tom glanced at her, his gaze unwillingly tracing the heart-shaped curve of her filthy face, the wideness of those eyes that were so inhumanly blue. She looked back at him, her own gaze strangely steady, making him look away again, hands gripping the steering wheel even harder. "What is it with you and the Doctor?" Tom snapped, bitter curiosity getting the better of him. "I mean, what's with him full stop?"

"What, is he messing with your head?" Vivien snorted. "Good on him, you deserve it."

Tom glared at her. "We caught him helping a Skitter," he said, struggling to keep his temper, "but then he started trying to help us - well, he did, but that's not the point. We don't know what the deal is with him. He's alien but looks human, and he speaks with an estuary English accent but comes from another planet. It's... it's _insane - _I mean, _he's _insane full stop_._"

"He's dangerous," Vivien said, making Tom look at her sharply, "but he can help you, if you let him, especially with what's going on. This is kind of his forte, the whole alien invasion thing."

Tom's jaw tightened. "What, he's some sort of interplanetary Good Samaritan, then?" he said scornfully.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"So what are you, then? His handmaiden? Someone to dust down his suit after he saves the world?"

"I'm his assistant."

"Really?" Tom asked, insultingly incredulous.

"I am!" Vivien protested. "What else would I be?"

"His lady friend?"

Vivien did a double-take. "He's not my bloody boyfriend," Vivien snapped, recovering herself. "And why would you care anyways if he was?"

"I don't."

"I think you do."

"Well, you're wrong."

"Why ask, then?"

"I'm just curious, that's all."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Cats have nine lives, and I have a few left," Tom parried, swinging the truck round. "So shoot. Spill the beans on your torrid romance."

"There is no torrid romance," Vivien said from between gritted teeth. "I'd rather eat my own eyeballs."

"Good," Tom said grimly. "Glad to hear it."

* * *

Another twenty or so minutes passed in silence, the stillness drilling into Tom's skull, Vivien's shoulders now hunched up to her ears, the truck still moving at a snail's pace. Tom didn't know what the delay was, but he suspected Uncle Scott was behind it. Biting back a curse, he suddenly slammed down on the brakes as the van in front abruptly came to a halt, the two vehicles almost crashing into one another. Vivien flew forwards, and then backwards, the seatbelt nearly strangling her, making her gasp in shock.

"Jesus, you okay?" Tom demanded, leaning over and yanking it from her throat.

"I'll live," Vivien retorted. "No thanks to you."

"It was my pleasure," Tom said sarcastically, before rolling down the window and sticking his head out. "What the hell you playing at!?" he fired at Danner who strode towards him, an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, his face like thunder.

"What the hell are _you _playin' at, Mason!?" Danner flung back. "You've been crawlin' up my ass for the past mile or so!"

"In your dreams" -

\- "Hey, that's enough," Weaver said, appearing out of nowhere, "stand down, both of you."

Tom tried to get a grip of himself, gripping the steering wheel for support instead. "What's with the hold-up?" Tom asked abruptly.

"Uncle Scott," Weaver answered just as abruptly, straightening his skip-hat.

"Thought so," Tom said, slumping back in his seat.

"We may be here for a while," Weaver said reluctantly, "but the coast is clear - for now. Should be safe enough until Uncle Scott sorts it out."

"Get Jamil on it, or we'll be here all day," Tom said, struggling to keep his temper under control.

Before Weaver could answer with a negative, Danner spoke up, surprising Tom. "Yeah, get Jamil on it," he agreed, popping a stick of gum into his mouth, "he can fix a car engine blindfolded."

Weaver stared at Danner like the suggestion was sedition. "Fine," Weaver then said, flinging up his hands, "go and get Jamil on it." And with that, he stalked off, Danner giving Tom one last glare before following him.

"Asshole," Tom muttered, before thumping the dashboard with his fist, making Vivien flinch.

"Christ on a cracker!" she exclaimed, doing a Danner and glaring at him.

"Sorry," Tom said, not in the slightest.

"Never mind that," Vivien said irritably, "shut that bloody window. I'm sitting in a draught here."

"Maybe you shouldn't total innocent trucks, then," Tom said from between gritted teeth as he rolled up the window again.

Vivien glanced over her shoulder at the empty window frame behind her, her lips thinning. "What else was I supposed to do?" she mumbled. "Let you whisk me away to God knows where? I don't think so, _dingbat_."

Tom glanced at her, amused against his will. "You cold?" he said gruffly, noting her even more hunched shoulders.

"Obviously."

Rolling his eyes, Tom shrugged off his jacket before unzipping his fleece and draping it over Vivien's shoulders. "Better?" he said even more gruffly.

Vivien glanced at him, her brow furrowing. "Thanks," she said slowly, her stomach choosing that moment to rumble loudly.

"Sounds like someone's got the munchies," Tom said in a caustic undertone, rummaging through his jacket pockets, before pulling out two breakfast bars and a carton of orange juice.

"Wow, you're quite the walking buffet, aren't we?" Vivien said sarcastically as he handed his haul over to her.

"Just eat up and shut up," Tom said tiredly, slumping back in his seat again.

"So, you're second-in-command of the 2nd Mass?" Vivien said, ignoring his warning.

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"I just got promoted," Tom admitted against his will, watching her work her way through the breakfast bars, her bound hands doing nothing to stop their destruction. "God, you remind me of a termite," he said not a little nervously as she crammed the rest into her mouth.

"I'malilbigforatermite."

Tom just glanced out of the window, his jaw working.

Vivien gulped down the rest of granola and strawberry, before speaking again. "How is the resistance _really _going?" she asked, necking back some orange juice. "You look a little advanced to me for someone that's so called starting out."

Tom glanced at her, raising his eyebrows. "You seriously expect me to answer that?" he said sceptically.

"I'm not some secret agent," Vivien said, her own brows drawing together. "I can't spy for toffee."

"Well, what are you, then?" Tom snapped. "From where I'm sitting, all I see is a traitor to the human race."

Vivien stared at him, her lower lip wobbling, the gesture oddly childish. Without warning, she slammed the carton of orange juice down on the dashboard, before twisting in her seat and tugging up the bottom of Pope's shirt, exposing a bare expanse of back. "Look," she said from between gritted teeth, "look and see what I am."

Tom hesitated, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Careful to keep his distance, he reluctantly studied her spine, half expecting to see a harness, only for his eye to be caught by what looked like a brand mark, a single sickle moon shape, the pattern burned into her flesh, marring her ivory skin. He glanced up at her, his brow furrowing. "What - what is that?" he asked, drawing back from her.

"I was branded," Vivien said abruptly, pulling down Pope's shirt.

"By - by who? And - and what for?" Tom asked, his head starting to spin.

"I - I was taken," she said with great difficulty, her gaze fixed on the dashboard, "by - by aliens. Not the ones you're fighting, different ones. Their race was very old, and had once been very powerful, but they lost their empire a long time ago, their species almost dying with it - their biological process involved the female dying to give life to the off-spring, so those that were left started searching for an alternative, a - a surrogate. But everyone they experimented on died, except - except me. I survived the process. They said - they said I was strong" -

Tom looked away as she broke down, burying her face in her bound hands. He sat there listening to her sobs, thinking of Ben, how he had failed him. With shaking hands, he pulled out a crumpled hanky from his jean pocket, before giving it to her, Vivien wiping her filthy face on it, smearing even more dirt over her skin. "I'm... I'm sorry," he said quietly, the ghost of guilt stirring in him again.

"Sorry for what?" Vivien snapped, raising her head. "That I'm a hybrid? I can't change who I am, Tom" -

\- "But that's precisely what they did, Vivien," Tom retorted. "They _changed _you."

Vivien looked away again. "What does it matter?" she said brokenly. "I'm damned either way, whether by what I am, or who I'm with."

Tom's jaw tightened. "Where does the Doctor fit into this?" he asked, shrugging on his jacket again.

"He saved me."

This time it was Tom that looked away.

"You can't grasp the concept of a good alien, can you?" Vivien said bitterly, wiping her eyes with the heel of her bound hands.

"I'm second-in-command of an alien resistance movement," Tom burst out, "of course I can't grasp the concept of a good alien! Such a thing doesn't and cannot exist!"

"I'm living proof that it does," Vivien retorted. "If the Doctor hadn't saved me, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be dead, alright, just some hollowed out carcass drifting in space" -

\- "You just said he was dangerous," Tom pointed out, feeling like he was going round in circles.

Vivien looked away, caught in her own trap.

"It doesn't matter about the Doctor anyways," Tom said tiredly, running his hand across his beard, "he's captured and contained, and that's all that counts" -

\- "But he can help you!" Vivien burst out, her blue eyes blazing.

"We're winning this war on our own" -

\- "It doesn't look like that from where I'm sitting," Vivien said smartly, "all I see is a bunch of tin soldiers making a lot of noise and not much else."

Tom's jaw tightened at her constant contradictions. "Battle of Narva, Swedes against the Russians, year 1700," he said suddenly, startling her. "Obscure little skirmish in the Great Northern War. It's only significant to military historians because it's such an outstanding example of how surprise and initiative can turn the tables and overwhelm far superior numbers."

Vivien resisted the urge to roll her eyes, settling on making a face instead.

"The Russians outnumbered the Swedish troops, but by using the element of surprise, and with the weather on their side, the Swedish army somehow managed to outwit an enemy five times their own size and under two hours at that," Tom continued, undeterred by her derision, gesticulating wildly with his large hands, going into full history professor mode, "it - it was just a question of strategy. The Russians were far more powerful, and the last thing they expected was for the Swedes to bring the fight to them, which is precisely why they were so hopelessly routed."

"What, so the 2nd Mass are the Swedish then? This is your Narva?" Vivien said sceptically

"Precisely."

Vivien just raised her eyebrows at him, Tom raising his own in return, their gazes locking and holding. For a long moment they just stared at one another, faces inches apart, Vivien studying Tom, trying to get a handle on him. He looked knackered, with bags etched under his eyes, eyes that weren't as dark as she'd originally believed them to be, the brown flecked with bottle green. Tom shifted nervously in his seat, running his hand even more nervously across his beard.

"What are you looking at?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm just admiring your beard," Vivien said tartly. "It's got that right amount of hairiness - you know, not too long, not too short..."

Tom raised his eyebrows again, before bursting out laughing, amused against his will. "You're nuts, you know that?" he said, shaking his head.

"No, I don't know," Vivien scowled, her nostrils flaring.

"You should know why."

"Maybe you're making it too hard" -

\- "And you're making this harder than it should be," he said before he could stop himself, silencing her.

For a moment, they just stared at each other again, and then Vivien hastily looked out of the window, heart thudding strangely in her chest. Tom sat there, studying her profile, the tilt of her determined chin and full lips, before turning away from her, wishing himself a million miles away from his enemy.


	9. Miles To Go

**Miles To Go**

"Are we there yet?" Vivien pretended to pout, making Tom roll his eyes.

"No, we're obviously not," he said, pulling out a water bottle from his inside pocket. Jamil was still wrestling with Uncle Scott's car engine, and Tom could only hope that he would wield his usual magic and get them moving again. Being stuck in a traffic jam with an alien-human hybrid was starting to make him feel like he was trapped in a Stephen King story-line.

"Can I have some?" Vivien asked, startling him. "Please?" she hastily amended, holding out her bound hands for the water bottle.

Tom stared at her, before recovering himself. "Yeah, sure," he said, unscrewing the lid for her, before handing it over, watching as she greedily gulped the water down, spilling it down the front of Pope's shirt.

"Thanks," she said, giving it back to him. "My throat was starting to feel like the Sahara Desert there."

"Yeah, whatever," Tom said abruptly, making her stare at him.

"What's your problem?" Vivien snapped. "I'm only trying to be civil."

"You're my problem," Tom snapped back, slamming the bottle down on the dashboard, "and don't waste your time trying to be civil, it's not going to work."

"I'm not trying to friend request my way to freedom, _pal_," Vivien retorted, "I just don't fancy a bloodbath, alright?"

"There isn't going to be a bloodbath," Tom said tersely, "I told you, and I'll tell you again, nobody's going to hurt you, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," Vivien muttered, echoing his earlier words.

This time it was Tom's turn to stare at her. "Give me your hand," he said suddenly, startling her this time.

Vivien gaped at him.

"Go on, give me it," he prompted, jerking his head impatiently at her.

"Would you like it gift-wrapped, _sir_?" Vivien said, adopting a snooty sales assistant voice, trying to cover up her confusion. "Maybe with a little bow to top it off?"

"Just give me your goddamn hand!" Tom snapped, pulling out a flask of whisky from his pocket, making Vivien raise her eyebrows.

"Bigger on the inside, eh?" she taunted.

"Hand, now!"

"You could at least buy me a drink first," Vivien protested as he snatched her palm, before roughly turning it over, exposing her wound, the skin smeared with drying blood, sticky and oozing. "Yeah, it's red, same as everyone else's," she said, noting his raised eyebrows.

"I don't care if your blood is every shade of the rainbow," Tom snapped, "I'm just trying to work out if you need stitches or not."

"I don't," Vivien snapped back. "It's not deep enough for that. It's just a clean cut, no glass in it."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," Tom said, weighing up bottle and flask, trying to decide which one to use first, "you're the first and foremost medical authority around here."

Vivien flushed hotly, remembering how she'd fudged her way through her diagnosis of Billy's wound back in the auditorium.

"Yeah, I remember," Tom said, reading her mind like a book, before finally deciding on the water, tipping it over her hand. Vivien winced as he ruthlessly cleaned and dried the wound with some crumpled but clean tissues, before sluicing her skin with alcohol, disinfecting the wound even further, burning her flesh, making Vivien bite down on her lip. She lifted an eyebrow as he proceeded to tightly bind her hand with a hanky befrilled and monogrammed to within an inch of its life.

"Don't worry, it's clean," Tom snapped, noting her askance glance at it.

"Is it yours?" Vivien asked. "Or does it belong to one of your many admirers?"

"For chrissake," Tom said tiredly. "Don't you ever let up?"

"Is it that Heather's?" Vivien guessed, goading him. "Though she doesn't strike me as the frilly type, not with her filthy paws the size of hams."

Tom glanced out of the window, his jaw working.

"Or is it Anne's?" Vivien taunted further. "She looks like she fancies a piece of Mason pie" -

\- "Would you just shut up!?" Tom exploded, whirling on her, shocking her into silence.

"Keep your beard on," Vivien muttered, recovering herself. "I was only winding you up."

"Do I look like a bloody clock to you?"

"Cuckoo, yes," Vivien said smartly.

"Just be quiet," Tom said, holding up his hands, almost pleading now. "Can you do that, for five minutes, please?"

"Only if you're done being Florence Nightingale," Vivien drawled. "Or are you going to kiss it all better for me?"

"Only you ask me very nicely," Tom retorted.

"Yeah, when hell freezes over," Vivien scoffed.

"We're already in hell," Tom pointed out, slumping back in his seat, "just in case you haven't noticed."

_Everybody takes forever to fall asleep_  
_Everybody's got a life they don't want to keep_  
_Everybody needs a prayer, and needs a friend_  
_Everybody knows the world's about to end_

* * *

After much delay, the 2nd Mass finally reached the school, wasting no time in making it their own. Anne and Lourdes appropriated one of the science classrooms, turning it into a makeshift medical clinic, taking advantage of the spacious layout and interconnecting rooms. In a far corner, lay the Doctor, his suit torn and bloodied, his laces loose. He stirred weakly, his side killing him despite the bandages and painkillers Lourdes had lavished on him.

Taking a beating was a bit different from taking a bullet, the former easier to recover from than the latter. There had been a moment where he'd thought he was heading for the great TARDIS in the sky, but he'd prevailed, managing to keep his pretty face much to his pride. He rolled onto his back, making the camp bed's springs creak in protest, attracting Lourdes's attention.

"Leave him be," Anne said as she tied her hair back. "We've got better things to do than pamper the enemy."

"But" -

\- "You've done all you can for him, Lourdes," Anne said, dropping her hands to her sides, "you've stitched and cleaned him up, using our resources to do so might I add" -

\- "Alright, alright," Lourdes said, holding her hands up. "I'm sorry."

Anne just nodded before turning her attention back to the boxes waiting to be unpacked, Lourdes studying the Doctor for a long moment before biting her lip and going over to the window, looking out at what was left of the world. The Doctor glanced at her, his gaze then falling upon several soldiers standing nearby, watching him as he watched them.

"Bastard's awake," one of them pointed out, making the obvious even more obvious.

"And good morning to you, too," the Doctor said blearily, wishing in vain for a four-poster bed.

"Shut your mouth, shit-face," another snarled.

"If you like," the Doctor murmured before slipping back into oblivion.

Several classrooms away, Vivien stared unseeingly at the blackboard behind Weaver, her head spinning. It was like a storm was roaring through her but she couldn't give it voice. Weaver had been cross-examining her for the past twenty minutes, forcing her to give him a potted history of who she was, what she was and why she was with the Doctor, as well as information on all the aliens she had ever encountered.

That had then segued into why she'd been in South Boston and all that had happened afterwards, right up to now. She'd tried to stick to the truth as much as possible, repeating what she had already told Tom, only omitting any mention of the TARDIS and time-travelling, the TARDIS key feeling like a ball and chain around her neck, something warning her these soldiers would sacrifice anything to have that kind of power.

But she could tell by the way Weaver was looking at her that her story wasn't adding up, that he didn't believe her. The whole scenario surrounding her capture and release by the Skitters was confusing him as much as her. The only explanation he could come up with was that she was a trap being set for the 2nd Mass, an accusation she'd fervently and feverishly denied until she was blue in the face, an accusation he kept returning to and repeating.

"You say they were searching for you," Weaver said for the umpteenth time, "yet this group of Skitters secretly let you go? From where I'm standing, that makes no sense at all."

Vivien raised her head, her gaze meeting Tom's. He shook his head, whether at her or Weaver, she didn't know, but she took some bitter comfort from his presence. He'd doggedly refused to leave the room, much to Weaver's annoyance.

"If what you're saying is true, you're obviously important to these bastards," Weaver said, circling her, "but why?"

"I don't know," Vivien said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Is it because of what you are?" Weaver pressed. "Are you their next offensive?"

Vivien just stared at the floor, hatred coursing through her veins for him.

"Keeping you here could kill everyone under this roof," Weaver said, struggling to maintain his composure, "so you better answer the goddamn question, girl!"

"They don't know she's here," Tom said quickly, stepping into the fray.

"And how do you know this nugget of wisdom?" Weaver said, rounding on him.

"Margaret," Tom said tiredly.

"Margaret?"

"She said that nothing had come after Vivien" -

\- "So?"

"So it means they don't have any intel on her whereabouts" -

\- "So we just let her make us a sitting target for the Skitters" -

\- "We're already a sitting target," Tom said, sitting down on the edge of a desk, "regardless of Vivien being here or not. What I'm saying is, if she's telling the truth, if they're really hunting her, surely they would have found her by now?"

"Maybe not now, but it'll only be a matter of time before they do," Weaver said grimly, "and we'll be standing right between them and their prize."

Vivien raised her head. "I've been in this shithole for a while now," she said, jerking her head at the surrounding school, "thanks to Pope and his merry men. If anything was coming for me, it would have been here long before now."

"They could be on their way here right now," Weaver pointed out, reiterating his argument.

"If they were, you'd know all about it," Vivien retorted.

"We do know all about it, girl," Weaver spat. "We've lost everything to these bastards so don't you sit there and patronize us, alien on high" -

\- "Fuck you," Vivien hissed.

Weaver studied her for a moment, his jaw tightening. "Doesn't it strike you as suspicious that the Skitters would deposit you in Acton of all places?" Weaver said in a low voice, kneeling down in front of her. "Where the 2nd Massachusetts is stationed, huh?"

Vivien met his stare head-on. "I'm not a trap," she repeated from between gritted teeth.

"Then what are you?" Weaver repeated back. "If they want you alive, why did they bomb seven bells out of South Boston where you were?"

"I never said they wanted me alive," Vivien snapped.

"They want to kill you, then?"

"I don't know what they want, except that they want me!" Vivien exploded. "As for bombing South Boston, let's just call that collateral damage."

Weaver raised his eyebrows.

"My appearance in South Boston was... unexpected," Vivien said, dropping her gaze to the ground.

"I don't understand your statement."

Vivien looked away.

Weaver studied her for a moment again, before turning to Tom. "Maybe she's our golden ticket to ending this war," he said slowly, trying out his theory for size, "if we could get Porter's scientists onto her, do some dissection" -

\- "I don't think so," Tom interjected, shocked.

"It's not up to you," Weaver said coldly. "It's up to Porter. If he sanctions it" -

\- "Over my dead body he will," Tom snapped, standing up.

"If it's your dead body you're volunteering," Vivien said, shrugging a shoulder, "be my guest. I'm not complaining."

Tom just stared at her, before breaking down in mirthless laughter. Weaver glanced between them both, brow furrowing. He straightened his skip-hat, before clearing his throat, trying to re-assert his control of the conversation. "We know you can bend light and howl like a banshee," he fired at Vivien, startling her, "and that you're slightly more durable than the average human" -

\- "It doesn't make me immortal," Vivien spat, "I'm not Highlander, pal."

"Not with that accent," Weaver said darkly.

"Don't start the red-coat rigmarole," Vivien retorted, "I've heard enough of that from Pope."

"And I've heard a lot from Pope about you," Weaver said, his grey eyes glittering dangerously.

"Where's the Doctor?" Vivien demanded, changing the subject.

"He's... alive," Weaver said, making Vivien's face pale, "and unfortunately so."

"What are you talking about, Dan?" Tom said, bewildered.

"It was self-defence," Weaver said obliquely, averting his eyes.

"Self-defence?" Tom echoed wildly. "What the hell do you mean by self-defence?"

"Why do you care?" Weaver said, dodging the question

"The Doctor is in protective custody," Tom said in disbelief, "his welfare my responsibility!"

"What the hell have you done to him?" Vivien whispered, her voice shaking, tears springing to her eyes.

"Bastard tried to escape," Weaver said coldly, "putting the safety of the 2nd Mass at risk, so Mike was forced to turn his gun on him."

"What the hell?" Tom said in shock. "Was that even necessary?"

"Of course it was necessary!"

Tom stared at him. "You're meant to keep him alive," Tom said slowly, "not kill him. That was a direct order" -

\- "I've got better things to do," Weaver said abruptly, "and babysitting some suit-wearing alien isn't one of them."

"What, so you hurt him instead?" Vivien shrieked, lunging forwards, Tom hastily restraining her. "Get your hands off me!" she shouted at him, angrily dashing away her tears with the inside of her bound wrists. Tom backed away from her, dropping his arms almost helplessly to his sides.

"This was no good today," Weaver fired at Tom, ignoring her outburst. "We almost lost you and your squad, and then you bring that _thing _back to base, putting us all in danger."

"Hey" -

\- "Don't 'hey' me, Mason," Weaver snapped. "You're the one that got your team taken hostage."

"I didn't exactly plan for that to happen" -

\- "What like you didn't 'exactly' plan on picking up that piece of alien ass?"

"Porter wants information," Tom retorted, "and she's goddamn five feet nine inches of alien intel!" he bellowed, jabbing his finger at Vivien. "That's why I brought her back because I obey orders unlike some I could mention" -

\- "We almost lost our best weapon and a lot of our food," Weaver exploded, "and from what I gathered, that was _her_ work, sending Hal back here to haggle as though we were buying a turkey for Thanksgiving!"

"Pope was going to slit the boy's throat!" Vivien spat. "I had to do something!"

"You didn't have to do anything," Weaver said, whirling on her, "because it was nothing to do with you. You're outside all decent _human_ society, isolated, alone. You don't belong here, least of all with us."

Vivien stared at him, her lower lip trembling before dropping her gaze to the ground again.

Weaver just shook his head, before turning back to Tom. "We almost lost everything to a bunch of criminals with AKs and road flares," Weaver said, sliding his thumbs into the loops of his belt. "This time it worked out, but there's a reason we have a chain of command, Tom, and you better damn well follow it in future."

Rage rose in Tom at this, at the unfairness of it all, but he bit back a bitter retort, choosing instead to stay silent, his shoulders hunching under the strain.

"Take that thing," Weaver said, flapping his hand at Vivien, "and get it cleaned up and checked over by Anne."

Jaw tightening, Tom stooped down and helped Vivien to her feet, avoiding her eyes.

"We'll continue this conversation later," Weaver aimed at Vivien, only to stop short at a knock on the door. "Come in," Weaver called out, glaring at Vivien.

The door opened, only to reveal Pope of all people, his hands bound behind him, a gun pressed against the small of his back by a stern faced soldier. Pope shot Vivien a wink, making her turn away in disgust, Tom stepping in front of her, blocking her from Pope's sight.

"See you've still got your Professor performing tricks like a prize poodle, Red-Coat," Pope said, craning his neck, "are you gonna send him to Crufts next year?"

"Shut your mouth," Weaver snapped. "Why the hell is he here?" he then demanded, firing his question at the soldier.

"Says he wanted to speak to you, sir," the soldier replied in a monotone. "Had important intel to impart, sir."

"And what might that be?" Weaver growled, rounding on Pope.

"It's my birthday today," Pope said casually, tossing his hair back, "and I don't really fancy spending it in that broom closet you put me in, so I'd like an upgrade pretty please with sugar on top, and one of those little umbrellas you get in cocktails. _Cheers_."

For a moment Weaver just stood there, his fists clenching by his side, Pope smirking, enjoying the show. "Your day's just getting better and better, Mason," he then said, rounding on Tom this time, "you can personally escort Pope to his new humble abode."

"Where's that?"

"Connected to one of the science classrooms," Weaver explained abruptly, "is an ante-room of sorts - has a locked off area divided into two parts. The Doctor is being contained in one of them. Only problem is, because of his current condition and the threat he poses to the 2nd Mass, we had to compromise."

"Compromise on what?" Tom asked, starting to lose his temper, wishing Weaver would just get to the point.

"Anne set up shop in the science classroom in question," Weaver said from between gritted teeth, "which means we're in the uncomfortable position of containing prisoners next to patients."

Tom just nodded his head, making Vivien scoff in derision. He glanced over his shoulder at her in surprise, only to wish he hadn't. She looked like she could cheerfully strangle him with her bare hands.

"Hold up," Pope said, brow furrowing, "who's this Doctor dude? Why's he such a threat? I don't wanna be sharing cell space with some psychopath."

"He's an alien with two hearts that happens to look human and speak with an English accent," Weaver said, straightening his skip-hat, "and his little doxy here is an alien-human hybrid who has what seems to be the whole Skitter Empire hot on her tail. Why they want her, I don't know, but I think it's to humanity's advantage that they don't get their filthy claws on her or her side-burned, suit-wearing freak of a boyfriend, which is why you're sharing cell space with the latter."

Pope just stared at him, speechless.

"Ah silence," Weaver sighed, "the sweetest sound I've heard all day."

* * *

Heads turned as the group made their way down the hall, Tom's stern face silencing any words that might have been said. Vivien glanced up at him, her own face hardening. He was gripping her elbow, his fingers biting into her skin, forming manacles around her flesh.

"Nice death-stare," Tom observed, amused against his will. "Been practising?"

"Every night in front of my bedroom mirror," Vivien retorted.

"I can tell," Tom said, stifling a grim grin. "Practice obviously makes perfect."

Vivien just looked away, nostrils flaring.

"And that's one-nil to the human race," Pope said, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up, Pope," Tom said from between gritted teeth, remembering Maggie had said something similar back at the auditorium.

"My name's John, actually," Pope drawled, slowing to a stop, forcing the others to do the same, "just in case you two were thinking of naming your first freak of a child after me, you know, since I did bring you both together" -

\- "Shut your goddamn mouth," Tom snapped, "or by God I'll shut it for you."

"Chill, Cambridge," Pope said, rolling his eyes, "I was just messin' with ya." His gaze fell upon Vivien instead, mocking and malicious. "Y'know, I can just imagine the two of you walking hand in hand over some heath somewhere," he said, voice becoming deliberately distant, "your kids running around in Rupert the Bear jumpers, lil legs skittering everywhere" -

Vivien suddenly lunged at Pope, Tom yanking her roughly back. "Get the hell off me!" she bellowed, twisting and turning, trying to break free.

Tom forced her to face him, his face pale. "For chrissake, get a grip," he hissed, startling her back into semblance, "don't make this harder on yourself than it is already."

Vivien stared at him before falling still, her face inscrutable under his scrutiny. Then the group started their slow progression down the hall again, Pope casting the soldier escorting him a lazy smile. "Nice day for it, isn't it?" he said, the soldier ignoring him, her face as stern as ever. "So what are you gonna do with me?" Pope then asked Tom as they bypassed a row of lockers. "You're not gonna offer me anything like asylum, are you?"

"No," Tom shortly, steering Vivien out of the way of some people shifting desks and chairs out of a classroom.

"What about Maggie?"

"She wants to earn her citizenship in the 2nd Mass by being a fighter," Tom said, craning his neck.

"Sold me out, the little bitch," Pope muttered.

"You should've taken me up on my offer."

"Join your tattered remnants? I think I'll take a rest for a little while," Pope retorted. "Being the leader of a post-apocalyptic gang of outlaws has been exhausting."

Tom just rolled his eyes before guiding Vivien over to where Anne was studying a display cabinet of school trophies, lost in thought.

"Hey," Tom said, making her glance up.

"Hey," Anne said, her smile slipping at the sight of Vivien.

"Hi to you too," Vivien snapped, the look in Anne's eyes dragging her out of her depression.

"That's enough," Tom said, tightening his grip on her arm. "I was just going to come looking for you," he said in an undertone to Anne, his gaze locking with hers, something passing between them, reminding Vivien of the moment she'd witnessed back at the auditorium.

Anne looked away, breaking the spell. "What for?" Anne said coldly, shaking the hair back from her face.

"Vivien here needs checked over," Tom said awkwardly, the coolness of Anne's manner unsettling him, "she's got some injuries that need dealt with."

"And clothes as well," Pope interjected, "Cinderella here is flashin' too much flesh for my taste, if not yours" -

\- "Shut the hell" -

"And I want my shirt back," Pope continued, "washed, mind you."

"Shut your goddamn trap," the soldier said, speaking up for the first time since they left the room. "Or you'll have worse things to worry about than laundry."

Pope studied her for a moment, before falling silent, looking impressed by her authority against his will.

"Can I bring her into the clinic, then?" Tom pressed, sensing Anne wasn't onside.

"I can't... help her," Anne said uneasily, proving his suspicions correct.

"Why not?"

"She's with the Skitters," Anne said, shooting Vivien a sidelong glance of repulsion.

"Anne, please" -

\- "They killed my son, Tom," Anne said angrily. "His blood is on her hands."

"They killed my wife and took my own son," Tom said, voice cracking, "but we still owe it to ourselves to be better than them, don't we?"

Anne ducked her head, her long dark hair falling across her face, obscuring it from Tom's judgement.

"Fine," she finally said. "I'll do it."

"Thanks," Tom said slowly, "and thanks for coming out with Hal," he added as an almost afterthought.

"You'd do it for me," Anne said, staring into the distance.

"Yeah, I would," Tom said, his voice low and intimate again, making Anne glance at him, her icy act thawing as her cheeks reddened slightly. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, Pope clearing his throat pointedly, making Tom hastily look away, Anne hesitating before just as hastily disappearing into the crowd, muttering about medical supplies as she moved. Just as Tom steered Vivien forwards again, a little boy running up to them, his small face framed by a halo of dark blonde curls.

"Dad!" Matt exclaimed excitedly, out of breath.

"What's wrong?" Tom demanded, panic rising in him.

"You said you'd play catch with me," Matt said as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

Tom exhaled sharply, panic being swiftly replaced by annoyance. He ran his hand across his beard, trying to contain his emotions. It wasn't right to take out his frustration on his son, but it was increasingly starting to feel like he was being boxed in, leaving him no room to manoeuvre -

"Don't mind us, Cambridge," Pope said, startling Tom out of his thoughts. "We've got all day."

"I'll come out later, alright?" Tom said quickly.

But Matt just ignored him, being too busy staring at Vivien for anything else, his small face curious. Vivien shifted uncomfortably on the spot, Tom hastily stepping in front of her, blocking her from Matt's sight.

"Run along, kid," Pope said, "freak-show's over."

Matt just scowled at Pope, before running off, throwing Vivien another curious glance over his shoulder as he went.


	10. Learn From Your Fears

**Learn From Your Fears**

Tom steered Vivien on, his grip tight on her elbow, a silent warning. The soldier led them through the swing doors into a science classroom turned makeshift medical clinic, then through another set of swing doors into the ante-room Weaver had spoken of. Four heavily armed soldiers stood guard, faces ranging from blank to bored. Confronted with the sight of the lock-ups, the thick mesh wire making them look more like cages than anything else, Vivien froze at the sight of the Doctor lying on the floor of the first one, his face pale, eyes closed.

Before anyone could react, she broke free of Tom's grip, throwing herself forwards, the soldiers springing to life, raising their rifles in her direction. But before she could reach the Doctor, she was being dragged backwards, Tom hollering at the soldiers to stand down.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Vivien screamed at him. "I'll kill you, I swear to God I'll kill you!"

"Vivien?" the Doctor asked weakly, sitting up with some difficulty, clutching his side with a shaking hand. He studied her for a long moment, brow furrowing. "Oh, it is you," he then said blearily, sounding put out, "I thought I recognized these dulcet tones."

Vivien just stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The Doctor just ignored her, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. Tom tightened his arm around Vivien's waist, keeping her trapped against him. She glared up at him, face contorting with rage. "Get the hell off me," she hissed from between gritted teeth, "not unless you want to lose your balls."

"Yeah, get your hands off the alien hybrid, Cambridge," Pope drawled, enjoying the show. "This isn't BU anymore, Professor, all these sweet young things wanting a little extra-curricular instruction."

"Shut your goddamn mouth," Tom snapped, shoving Vivien away from him, trying to ignore the looks the soldiers were exchanging at Pope's words.

"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking, Mason" -

\- "You fucking hypocrite," Vivien snarled, rounding on Pope, "you run with rapists."

"Sorry sweetheart, I don't do that shit," Pope smiled blandly.

"No, but your brother did," Vivien retorted viciously, "it's a shame you weren't there when Maggie put him out of his misery. She might have put you out of yours as well" -

Before anyone could stop him, Pope lunged at Vivien, but she swiftly sidestepped him, tripping him up with her bare foot. He went flying, landing face down on the ground. Unable to catch himself, he rolled over onto his side, trying and failing to get up again, Vivien trying and failing to stomp on his nose, Tom dragging her backwards again, the soldiers half raising their rifles, Tom once more bellowing at them to stand down, the Doctor surveying the scene with mild interest.

"You fucking half breed bitch!" Pope hollered, his face red with rage. "I'm gonna wring that Red-Coat neck of yours!"

"Get him into that cage!" Tom bellowed, struggling to restrain Vivien.

"Yes, give him a taste of his own medicine," Vivien spat, smiling savagely as the mesh door was slammed on Pope's snarling face.

* * *

Tom span Vivien round to face him, grabbing her shoulders with his hands, his face inches from hers. They stared at each other, brown boring into blue, each trying to conquer the other. After having Pope locked up, Tom had dragged Vivien into the classroom next door, trying and failing to calm her down, the two of them now locked in a stand-off.

"You have to get a grip, Vivien," Tom said from between gritted teeth. "I can only do so much to protect you."

"What, like you protected the Doctor?" Vivien retorted.

"I wasn't there" -

Vivien laughed, making Tom snap.

"I can't stop bullets with my bare hands, Vivien," he spat. "You're going to lash out one too many times" -

\- "I don't need you to protect me!"

"The Doctor should be fine," Tom said, abruptly changing the subject, "the bullet just clipped his rib, that's all."

"Oh, and that makes everything A-OK, then?"

"He'll make a full recovery," Tom said, "his physiognomy isn't that much different" -

\- "From a human's?" Vivien finished for him, watching his face pale. She stepped forwards, filled with vindictive venom. "Will that fun fact make it harder for you to kill him? Having a little attack of conscience, are we?"

"The Doctor is an alien," Tom said, his hands shaking now, "and it was aliens who did this to us, who destroyed our families, our lives. It was aliens who destroyed you, what you are. They took your humanity from you, like they did to my son!"

"They didn't destroy me," Vivien said quietly, "I tried to destroy myself. It was the Doctor who saved me, Tom, an alien. An_ alien_ saved me."

_We learn from the times that we are cursed_  
_Things cannot be reversed_  
_Learn from the ones we fear the worst_  
_And learn from the ones we hate the most..._

* * *

Vivien fumbled with the clasp of the silver chain, the TARDIS key resting in the smooth hollow of her throat, before donning the over-sized dressing gown Lourdes had laid out for her, wondering what fresh hell was going to happen next. Nearby, four female fighters circled the room, another two stationed on the doors, Anne and Lourdes busy storing away the rest of the 2nd Mass's medical supplies.

Tom had left Vivien to get cleaned up and checked over, but not before providing clean water and toiletries, toothpaste and a toothbrush, as well as some blackboards to use as screens to give her some privacy. Clean underwear and socks, all brand new and all roughly in her size, had also been provided for her. But this apparent kindness didn't deceive Vivien. She knew they were just keeping her well cared for so she wouldn't collapse under further cross-examination. Tom might draw the line at vivisection, but it wouldn't stop him from picking her brain.

Seeing Vivien was done, Lourdes stepped forwards, trying and failing to look friendly, her nerves getting the better of her. When she'd first seen Vivien, she'd almost recoiled, the sight of Vivien's inhumanly blue eyes sending a chill down Lourdes's spine. But with damp hair and a dressing gown on, Vivien looked less unearthly and more human, not the threat she was purported to be.

"If you'd like to come over here, I can check you over," Lourdes said, gesturing to the science bench.

Vivien hesitated, glancing guiltily over at Radnanski griping at Anne about his sore head, before acquiescing to Lourdes's request, hoisting herself up onto the science bench. Lourdes hesitated in turn before beginning the long process of cleaning and dressing Vivien's injuries, Vivien answering her questions in a monotone. There was a lot for Lourdes to deal with; the bite mark courtesy of Billy, a bust mouth, a cut bottom lip, a bruised cheekbone, untold damage done to her head, the ringing in her ears from the blast in South Boston, cut legs and arms, bits of glass still embedded in her skin, her flayed feet and the hand Tom had bound up.

Most of it Vivien had forgotten about, her body adapting with its usual uneasy ease to whatever strain she put it under, but she had pushed it to breaking point now, and it couldn't take much more. Unlike the Doctor, she could only heal at the average rate of a human. Her speciality was endurance and durability, but again, her level of endurance could only go so far, her durability not protecting her from death.

When Lourdes was done, Vivien made her way over to the pile of clothes Anne had reluctantly provided, rifling through them with a raised eyebrow. There was a floral pink dress way too big for her, with massive shoulder pads and a floor skimming hem, looking as if it had been made out curtains, and a pair of battered tennis shoes that looked like they would fall apart at the first wearing.

"I'm not wearing those," Vivien said, holding up the dress incredulously.

"That's all we can spare," Anne said, coming over, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't have the time to source high couture for someone like you."

"I'm not asking for the moon," Vivien retorted, "just something that will actually fit."

"That's all there is."

"It looks like something you'd bury your gran in," Vivien said, beaky nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Take it or leave it," Anne snapped, turning and walking away.

"I want Tom," Vivien said suddenly, her words making Anne's spine stiffen.

"_You want Tom?_" Anne said as she slowly turned around, her face pale as her gaze met Vivien's.

"Yeah, I _want _Tom," Vivien said, hoisting herself up onto the science bench again, perching almost provocatively on its edge.

"Who wants me?" Tom said absentmindedly as he strode through the double doors.

"I do," Vivien said, crossing her legs over, making the fabric of the dressing gown ride up, revealing a bare expanse of long limbs.

Tom just stared at her, all but doing a double-take, his shocked gaze drifting over her from top to toe, then back up to her face again. He almost didn't recognize her without the dirt and rags that had made up the composition of her appearance. It felt like somebody had hit him over the head with a blunt object. He opened his mouth to speak, only to find he couldn't, Vivien raising her eyebrows at him.

"Got something to say, big boy?" she smirked.

He just shook his head, trying to clear it. "You said you wanted me?" he said stupidly, instantly regretting his sentence.

"Yes, I did," Vivien said, enjoying the show.

"Why?"

"Because you're such a stud," Vivien said sarcastically, her caustic tone clearing his head once and for all, making him feel like she'd thrown cold water over him.

"Stop messing about," Tom snapped. "What's the problem?"

"These clothes are the problem," Vivien snapped back, brandishing the dress at him.

Tom just looked at it, not seeing the problem, trying not to look at her legs which were his real problem.

"Look, I might have something you can borrow," Lourdes said quickly, stepping into the fray.

"As long as it's not something out of a Dynasty re-run, I'm happy," Vivien said, sliding off the science bench.

Tom just shook his head, striding out of the room again, Lourdes hard on his heels, anxious to have Vivien out of the clinic before she could cause anymore trouble. It took her about ten minutes to reach her room and return with the clothes, having been waylaid by several civilians about runny noses and scraped knees. She'd dismissed them all with a forced smile and the instruction to attend the clinic, before all but bursting through the double-doors to the science classroom, only to stop short at the sight of Jamil laughing and joking with Vivien.

Jamil froze, caught offguard by her sudden appearance. "Oh, hey, Lo," Jamil said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. To say he was taken with Lourdes was an understatement, but she was too caught up in her crush on Hal Mason to pay him any attention. But that didn't stop him trying to get it. Yet he realised too late shooting the breeze with an alien hybrid wasn't the best way to go about it.

"Can I help you, Jamil?" Lourdes said coldly, glancing at Anne who was shredding sheets into bandages with too much enthusiasm.

"Uh, I got bitten by a spider?" Jamil offered weakly.

Lourdes just raised her eyebrows. Jamil seemed to be extremely accident-prone, always turning up at the clinic about the slightest scratch. "Put these on," she said abruptly to Vivien, handing her the clothes. "If you sit down, I'll check you over," she then said to Jamil, who reluctantly did as he was told, his shoulders hunched, looking like a little boy for a moment.

Vivien repressed a reluctant smile at the tableau in front of her, before retreating behind the blackboards and getting changed. She'd been slightly taken aback when Jamil had spoken to her, making a joke about the dress's massive shoulder pads, but sensing he had no hidden agenda, she had hesitantly responded in kind, even making a joke about it being sedition talking to her. Jamil had grinned at this, but Anne hadn't found it funny, giving them a dirty look as she carried a pile of sheets over to a far counter.

As she did up the laces on her tennis shoes, she wondered again at Jamil talking to her, the shock hitting her afresh. Apart from Sally, he was the first being she'd encountered so far not to show any kind of hostility to her, and it made the tears prick her eyes. Forcing herself to get a grip, she straightened up, shaking her black hair back. As she stepped out from behind the blackboards, Anne glanced up, before gesturing at two female fighters to escort Vivien outside to where Tom was waiting. When Vivien passed Jamil, he nodded at her, the movement barely imperceptible, Vivien acknowledging him with a faint nod of her own.

As the double doors opened, Tom stood up from where he'd been leaning against the wall, trying and failing not to stare at Vivien again, realising with a sharp shock she was beautiful, not knowing his eyes were deceiving him, seeing beauty when there was none beyond her vivid colouring. The red smock top Lourdes had lent her set off her ivory skin, the tight jeans emphasizing every curve, her violet eyes meeting his with a contempt that bordered on hatred.

They looked at each other for a long moment, dislike dancing with disgust, before Tom got a grip of himself and dismissed the fighters. They left without a backwards glance, glad to be rid of Vivien, their repulsed faces more telling than words. Tom gestured for Vivien to move, Vivien hesitating before forcing herself to walk, dropping her arms to her sides.

"You look better," Tom said with some difficulty as they then started to walk down the empty corridor.

"You mean I look more human," Vivien said, not without some scorn.

"You already look human," Tom said, "but your eyes..."

"Are a whole different story," Vivien finished wrongly for him. "As in they make me a freak."

"Your eyes are fine," Tom snapped, adjusting the strap of his rifle.

"What kind of fine?" Vivien said sarcastically. "Hot mama fine or run of the mill fine?"

"What about Tom Mason fine?" Tom said just as sarcastically, gesturing to himself. "I've had this hotness trademarked, don't you know."

Vivien stared at him before breaking down into mirthless laughter. "You are seriously losing the plot, Professor," she said, shaking her head at him.

"So would you if you were existing on two hours sleep," Tom retorted.

"Oh, how my heart bleeds for you," Vivien pretended to sympathise. "But it's better than being shoved into a cage and felt up by a serial rapist, isn't it?" she continued, making Tom slow to a stop.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened to you," he said, struggling to keep his temper, "but the 2nd Mass aren't John Pope and his gang, okay? So stop making out we're monsters" -

\- "When I'm the real monster around here," Vivien finished for him, setting off again.

Tom followed her, fighting the urge to shake some sense into her.

"You know, my eyes are actually naturally this colour," Vivien pointed out. "They're not some side-effect of alien experimentation."

Tom just ignored her, eyes narrowing as he stared at the far end of the corridor, pretending to be very interested in the set of double doors up ahead. As he did so, he somehow suddenly spectacularly tripped over, Vivien catching him by the elbow.

"Christ on a cracker, you alright!?" Vivien said, worried against her will.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Tom snapped, the tips of his ears turning crimson again. "Maybe not hot mama fine, but I'm fine."

Vivien smiled a little at this, the expression completely changing her face, softening the sharp angles of her features. Tom stared at her for a moment, before looking away, running his hand across his beard. Vivien hesitated, before leaning against the wall, Tom reluctantly echoing her stance. "Look, the Doctor's lying on the floor without even a blanket to cover him," she said quietly, her voice cracking, "can't you do something about that?"

Tom faltered before answering. "I'll... try," he then said against his will, "but I can't make any promises."

Vivien just nodded, before looking away this time.

"What happened to him shouldn't have happened, Vivien," Tom said reluctantly, making her glance up at him. "He was in protective custody, in my care. His welfare is my responsibility and I failed to do my duty" -

\- "You weren't there, Tom," Vivien acknowledged against her own will, cutting across him, "so - so there's no point in beating yourself up about it. It happened, and that's that. Just give him a goddamn blanket or a bed or something, instead of leaving him lying on the floor like a piece of rubbish."

Tom just nodded, studying her again. For a young woman, Vivien had old eyes, the contrast between them and her youth unsettling. It was like she had seen too far, seeing sights he couldn't even contemplate.

"Done deducing, Sherlock?" Vivien asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm done," Tom said abruptly. "Let's go."


	11. Wicked Game

**Wicked Game**

"Mason!"

Tom turned around, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand against the glare of the winter sun, his stomach turning at the sight of Weaver striding across the grass towards him. He'd left Vivien in Weaver's makeshift military headquarters, Hal and Karen keeping her under armed guard, a temporary promotion the two teenagers had heralded with high-fives and hip bumps. Tom had personally prepared two large bowls of oatmeal for Vivien, as well as providing her with three cartons of orange juice. He'd also taken the time to procure the Doctor a camp-bed, something he'd made sure to tell her. But a sullen silence was all the thanks he got for his efforts, irritating Tom against his will.

"You dumped that half breed in my quarters," Weaver spat, drawing level with Tom. "Yours too good to sully or something?"

"I don't have any quarters to 'dump' her in," Tom retorted, shouldering his rifle. "But I assure you, she's toilet-trained."

Weaver stared at him before bursting out into a bark of laughter, startling Tom. "Oh, crack a smile, Professor," Weaver grinned, "it wouldn't kill you, would it?"

"What's being done about Click's body?" Tom asked coldly and deliberately.

Weaver's face instantly fell back into usual harsh lines. "Anthony and Dai collected it while you were away," Weaver said, his voice shaking a little. "We're going to bury him out back with full military honours."

Tom bowed his head, Weaver looking away, both men mourning the loss of a friend and fighter.

"Captain!"

They glanced up, only to see Danner approaching, his face screwed up in its perpetual frown. Behind him were three other fighters, including the double-denimed man who'd led the beating of the Doctor the night South Boston was bombed; the others being a small squat man sporting the strange combination of a bald head and luxuriant beard, as well as a red-haired woman who Tom remembered as being too trigger-happy for his taste.

"What's the problem, Lieutenant?" Weaver asked, reading Danner's body language like a book.

"Mason's youngest brat has commandeered the principal's office for his personal playroom," Danner spat, "whilst I've got two dozen men baying for a place to lay their heads" -

\- "Shut your mouth, _asshole_," Tom hissed, stepping forwards. "My son isn't a brat!"

"I'll show you who's an asshole, Mason!" Danner exploded, the red-haired woman restraining him with a warning hand, the gesture oddly intimate, making Tom realise with some surprise Danner and the woman were involved in some way. Somehow the thought made him think of Vivien, forcing him to banish the memory of her blue eyes from his mind.

"My son isn't a brat," Tom reiterated from between gritted teeth, "but if there's an issue with billeting, we'll sort it out like the mature adults we are, yes?" He raised his eyebrows at him, silently daring Danner to defy him even further, his fists itching for a fight.

"Tom and his family haven't been assigned their own quarters yet," Weaver interjected smoothly, startling Tom again, "so I'm delegating that space as their canton."

"But what about" -

\- "The English classroom is empty," Weaver said abruptly. "Put your men in there. There wouldn't be enough room for them in that office anyways" -

\- "That's what I said," the woman interrupted, rolling her eyes, speaking up for the first time. "But did he listen? No, he _did _not." She made a strange sideways motion with her fingers, snapping them like castanets, jerking her head back and forth for good measure, putting Tom in mind of an angry hen.

"And that's why I didn't want you coming with me," Danner drawled, rounding on her.

"I was just lending you some moral support" -

\- "You call that Dolly Parton impersonation moral support!?" Danner interrupted incredulously. "You stoned, sweetheart!?"

The woman just stared at Danner. "Well, don't come crawlin' into my sleepin' bag tonight when Dan's done with makin' you do his dirty work," she retorted, recovering herself. "I ain't gonna waste my beauty sleep on someone who treats me like I'm trailer trash." With that, she turned on her heel, stalking off back to the school, her red hair swishing behind her as she went, Danner watching her go, something like reluctant admiration flickering behind his angry eyes.

"An' that's why women shouldn't take up arms," the double-denimed man said, letting out a low whistle.

"And why civilians shouldn't become soldiers," the other chimed in, reminding Tom of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

"The two of you were civilians before I took you in hand," Weaver snapped, whirling on them. "And you're fighters, not soldiers - there's a difference between the two."

"Plus you can't shoot straight," Tom aimed at the double-denimed man, rounding on him.

"I can still kick your ass to kingdom come," the double-denimed man snapped.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise," the double-denimed man sneered. "We don't take too kindly to Skitter sympathizers around here."

"That's enough," Weaver growled. "Tom's an ass, but he's no alien lover."

"What's with him and Miss. Universe, then?" the double-denimed man challenged. "From what I've been hearin' he's been helpin' himself to some extra-terrestrial spoils."

"You're about one step away from sedition, chawbacon," Weaver warned. "Cut and run or I'll be slamming you in the slammer."

The double-denimed man bowed his head, eyes flashing with badly hidden resentment, before letting the other man lead him away, Danner following them, giving Tom one last glare.

"God, I wish I had one moment to myself sometimes," Weaver said in an undertone to Tom.

"I know," Tom agreed emphatically, "tell me about it."

Silence.

"Is that not your whelp over there?" Weaver then said suddenly, pointing vaguely in the direction of the swing-set.

Tom craned his neck, catching a flash of dark blonde curls. "Well-spotted," Tom said dryly. "I better check in with him."

Weaver just nodded before heading back into the school, Tom striding across the overgrown grass, adjusting the strap of his rifle. All around him, children darted like dragonflies, playing tag, adults ferrying supplies to and fro, Uncle Scott scurrying around like the White Rabbit, the sight making Tom smile despite himself. Alien invasion or not, life went on, the sun rising and setting as ever.

"Hey, Matt!" he called, the little boy lifting his head, eyes lighting up at the sight of his father.

"Dad!" Matt cried, leaping to his feet and hurling himself at Tom.

Love suddenly swept through his heart for his small son, making Tom swing Matt up in his arms, holding him close to him, resting his bearded cheek against his son's smooth one. "I missed you little man," Tom said, kissing Matt's forehead as he carried him over to a bench, before sitting down on it, Matt leaning his head against his shoulder.

"I missed you too," Matt said, sounding very old.

"I'm... sorry," Tom said, making Matt glance up at him, "about before, when I snapped at you in the corridor. I shouldn't have done that."

"S'OK," Matt said, shrugging his shoulder. "We can play catch later."

"Sure thing, chicken wing."

"I'm not a chicken," Matt flared up.

"No, you're a chicken _wing_," Tom explained hastily. "There's a world of difference between the two."

Matt just scowled at him, dark eyes suspicious.

"What's this I'm hearing about the headmaster's office?" Tom teased. "You setting yourself up in state in there?"

"Everyone else had been assigned quarters apart from us," Matt said seriously. "Somebody had to take care of it, so I stepped up."

"Good," Tom said, repressing a grin.

"Good," Matt echoed, leaning his head back against Tom's shoulder.

They sat in silence for several long moments, Tom's thoughts guiltily winding their way back to Vivien and away from her again, trying not to remember her cutting words or the curve of her hips under his hands -

"Dad," Matt said, distracting Tom from his tumultuous, treacherous thoughts.

"What is it, son?" Tom said gruffly, the sight of his son's small face making the world make sense again.

"I wish Mom was here," the little boy said simply.

* * *

Vivien watched the two female guards go, glad to see the back of them. Hal and Karen had been excused earlier so they could pay their respects to Click, the 2nd Mass burying him out back with full military honours, Anthony leading the memorial service. Tom had stood side by side with Anthony, along with Hal, Karen and Dai, those closest to Click honouring his memory. Now Tom and Weaver had returned to resume their questioning of Vivien, the former now standing in front of the latter, humans versus hybrid.

A scout had been sent to Porter's unit with a coded message detailing Vivien's capture and the co-ordinates of their new locale, so apart from waiting for Porter's answer, all they could do was continue to contain Vivien and the Doctor, though Tom suspected this would be the easy part. The main problem was the ever increasing tension felt towards their presence, the 2nd Mass ready to riot at a moment's notice, objecting to having aliens in such close proximity to their families. So far their hostility had been limited to words, but it would only be a matter of time before the storm hit.

Weaver studied Vivien's face, trying to find the threat. But all he seen was a fall of black hair and crimson lips, reminding him of Snow White in her glass coffin. Despite her vivid colouring, Vivien was no beauty, her features plain and nondescript. She was no shrinking violet either, but her personality left a lot to be desired, being probably vivacious on her good days, vicious on her bad. To Tom, she was like a shooting star, there one moment, and then gone the next; strange, almost exotic; Tom seeing not a monster, but bravery, a reckless, ruthless courage made all the more frightening because she was frightened.

"You're not telling us the whole story, Vivien," Tom said again, trying to keep his temper.

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I just can't, alright!?"

"Is this a trap, Vivien?" Tom asked, his voice cracking. "That no matter what we do, it's game over" -

\- "No, it's not a trap!" Vivien spat.

"Then tell us what the hell is going on!"

"I just can't, alright!"

"Why the hell not?"

Vivien looked away.

"We are fighting a war, Vivien," Tom said, stepping forwards, "not having a tea-party" -

\- "I don't care!" Vivien exclaimed, flinging her hands up. "Do I look like someone who cares" -

\- "They took my son and killed my wife!" Tom suddenly exploded, making her flinch. "They took him and I don't know if he's dead or alive or - or anything. All I know is that they ripped his humanity away from him, harnessing him, turning him into a mindless slave. That's why _I'm_ fighting this war - it's not to save the human race. It's for revenge, Vivien, goddamn revenge."

Vivien stared at him. "If you want revenge, Tom, you can start with me, can't you?" she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I mean, you think I'm with them anyways, so why risk everything for a turncoat?"

"I think you're caught in the crossfire," Tom said simply, spreading his own hands wide.

"That doesn't mean you have to save me from it," Vivien snapped. "I can save myself."

"If I don't, you'll just be another person I failed, another person I couldn't save, and there's been many, believe me, who I've not been able to save, who have died right in front of me - blown apart, reduced to ash, gunned down and ripped to pieces. I'm not going to let that happen to you, Vivien."

Vivien stared at him again, almost incredulously. "You don't know me, Tom," she said, voice cracking, "you just know _what _I am."

Tom just shook his head, turning away from her.

"Enough with the psychobabble," Weaver said abruptly, "that card is obviously not working."

"Obviously," Vivien said from between gritted teeth, folding her arms across her chest.

Weaver exhaled sharply, straightening his skip-hat as he did so, hiding his discomfort at how disarmingly human she looked, ordinary and average apart from her extraordinary eyes. "I'm going to be upfront with you, Miss Holmes," Weaver said slowly, "your status within the 2nd Mass might be unclear, but you will not be molested or harmed in any way. We are not Pope and his gang; you will be treated with respect at all times - within reason, of course."

"I think what you're really trying to say is that you'll put a bullet in me at the slightest provocation," Vivien said dangerously, "just like you done with the Doctor."

"As long as you co-operate, your safety is assured," Weaver tried to say calmly, "and if the situation should arise that the safety of the 2nd Mass relies on you being handed over to the Skitters, such an action will be executed. But we're in accord on this, aren't we?"

Vivien hesitated before nodding, her jaw tightening.

"Dan" - Tom began, Weaver silencing him with his hand.

"This is between me and... and _her_, Tom," Weaver said with some difficulty. "Not you and the rest of the world."

"But it may come to that," Tom pressed. "That's what you've been making out all down the line."

"It's between me and _her_," Weaver reiterated.

"I know my own mind," Vivien flared up, rounding on Tom. "I don't need you to decide for me."

"I'm trying to keep you safe," Tom retorted.

"For what exactly?" Vivien snapped. "The only thing you're interested in is getting as much intel out of me as possible. Anything else is irrelevant. And besides, I don't need a bloody bodyguard."

"Stopping short of handcuffing you to Tom..." Weaver suggested dryly, his voice trailing off mock suggestively. "All I can do for your safety is keep you under armed guard," he then continued, "though I suspect Tom would enjoy the handcuffing part."

"You're a veritable wit, Weaver," Tom said, looking like he could cheerfully break Weaver's jaw.

"We're not here to be witty," Weaver said loftily, "we're here to get as much intel out of Miss. Holmes as possible, as she so succinctly put it."

Vivien glanced at him sharply, her black brows drawing together.

"If you don't want to talk about your dalliance with the Skitters," Weaver said, sitting down on the edge of a desk, "we'll talk some more about your precious Doctor instead."

"What, you want me to spill the beans on him?" Vivien said, raising her eyebrows.

"In a nutshell, yes," Weaver said, "so let's start with how the two of you met."

"I inherited him from my mother," Vivien said bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"My mother knew him, and he was fond of her. When she died, he stuck around to keep an eye on me."

"So your relationship is not a... romantic one?" Weaver said delicately, Tom half turning away.

"Hell, no."

"How did he get here?"

"His spaceship crashed," Vivien lied, her heart twisting in her chest over the real loss of the TARDIS. She'd been trying to block out her pain, but out of the blue it would return, like now, hitting her like a bullet, tearing her apart inside.

"It crashed where?"

"The Bermuda Triangle," Vivien said smartly, trying to maintain the pretence of her poise, "Roswell - take your pick, Pony-Tail."

Despite himself, Tom repressed a snort.

"What kind of alien is he?" Weaver barked, struggling to keep his temper under control.

"He's Gallifreyan."

"What the heck does that mean?"

"It means he's from the planet Gallifrey," Vivien said slowly, looking at Weaver like he was an imbecile. "He's a Time Lord."

"So why is he here?" Weaver asked. "If it's not to make war, why doesn't he tick-tock back home?"

"He can't."

"Why not?"

"Gallifrey's gone."

"Gone?"

"What happened?" Tom interjected, becoming tired of the verbal ping-pong.

"There was a war," Vivien said tiredly.

Silence.

"And... Gallifrey was destroyed in this... war?" Tom prompted, exchanging a glance with Weaver.

"The Doctor destroyed Gallifrey."

"Why?" Tom said, shocked.

"The war had destroyed so much already," Vivien explained, her voice cracking, "and it was beginning to threaten the rest of the universe, so he had to make a decision. The universe or his planet? So... he sacrificed everything for our sakes."

There was a long silence.

"But did he really have to?" Tom asked.

"Have to what?" Vivien said, confused.

"Make that kind of choice, that's what."

"Does it matter?" Vivien spat. "Gallifrey's long gone" -

\- "Never mind all that," Weaver interrupted, irritated. "I want to know about this war."

"Well, what do you want to know, oh Wise One?" Vivien said sarcastically.

"Well, who was fighting who?"

"The Time Lords were fighting the Daleks."

"The what?"

"The Daleks," Vivien snapped.

"The Doctor mentioned them before," Tom pointed out.

"Yeah, they've been kicking about for a while, causing trouble and shit," Vivien said, looking longingly at the door.

"But if the Doctor blew them all up, how could they attack the Earth - if they ever did, that is," Weaver said, suspicious.

"Because that's what they do, they keep coming back," Vivien sighed, "and don't ask me to explain how because I sure as hell don't know."

"What about the Doctor's people, then?" Weaver fired at her. "Should we be expecting a visit from them as well?"

"Did you not hear me?" Vivien said. "They're all gone. The Doctor is the only one left - he's the last of the Time Lords."

"You said the Daleks were gone, yet they apparently came back. How can you say his side of the family won't do the same?" Weaver said, straightening his skip-hat.

Vivien looked away, thinking of the Master.

"So there really are other aliens, then?" Weaver said, something in his voice making Vivien glance sharply at him. "It's not just these bastards we're dealing with?"

Vivien nodded, biting her lip.

"What about the ones that supposedly hurt you?" Weaver said suddenly. "Who were they? What are they called?"

"That's enough," Tom snapped, seeing Vivien pale in the face of Weaver's intrusive turn of questioning.

Weaver's jaw tightened, but he didn't push it.

"Are we done here?" Tom then asked abruptly.

"I suppose so," Weaver said reluctantly. "Whether she's telling the truth, I don't know - I suppose we'll just have to wait and see."

"Fine," Tom said, taking Vivien's elbow. "Just to let you know though," Tom suddenly said over his shoulder to Weaver as he steered Vivien towards the door, "I'm going out to search for Ben tomorrow. Having a base to come back to means I can take a team out and start looking properly, not this stop and start shit we've been doing."

"Tom" -

\- "Don't try and stop me, Dan," Tom said dangerously before leaving, all but dragging Vivien with him.

* * *

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you  
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do..._

Vivien leaned against the science bench, glancing around the makeshift medical clinic, reluctantly admiring what Anne and Lourdes had done with the little they had. Anne was nowhere to be seen, the female fighters from before long gone, but there were two armed soldiers on the doors outside, their gazes resolutely fixed on the wall ahead. Radnanski lay on a camp bed by one of the windows, fast asleep, snoring for Sweden, his double chins trembling in tandem with each snort. Vivien watched him for a moment, guilt rising in her again, before hastily looking away, refusing to entertain the qualms of her conscience.

Tom was in the ante-room, forcing Vivien to remain where she was until he saw fit to escort her through. She'd spent a good ten minutes alternating between arguing and appealing to Tom to allow her see the Doctor again, before breaking down into angry tears, making him reluctantly give way to her request. This act of weakness on his part had sown a seed in Vivien's mind, a seed that had quickly taken root during Tom's absence. With food in her belly and warm clothes on her back, Vivien was in a position to start planning an escape - the sooner the better. Once the Doctor was mobile, she could put a plan into action. The only problem was conjuring up a plan in the first place.

With no weapons, the TARDIS long gone and an alien army after her, Vivien wasn't quite sure which way to turn. Her only starting point was Tom. He was the weak link in the chain, but she didn't know how to break him. Flirting her way out seemed the only way forward. She'd used it as a weapon on him from the beginning, albeit with little success, but she hadn't been at her best then. Now she was relatively presentable, she could make a fresh assault on his baser instincts, using less sarcasm and more sugar, promising everything and delivering nothing.

It was a preposterous plan, but it was all she had, not realising she had begun playing such a dangerous game with Tom in the first place because she subconsciously sensed he was safe; that he wouldn't take advantage of her. Tossing her hair back, she tugged down the pleated neckline of the smock top, showing some more skin, a mere hint of what he could have, before biting her lips, making them even redder than ever. Without thinking, Vivien glanced at the swing doors that led out into the corridor, Lourdes glancing up from where she was checking some charts just in time to see her doing so.

"I wouldn't," Lourdes warned quietly, the memory of Jamil laughing and joking with Vivien still strangely stinging. "They won't hesitate to shoot."

Vivien did a double-take, before recovering herself. "I wasn't going to make a run for it," Vivien said dangerously. "I'm not going to abandon the Doctor to save my own arse."

Silence.

"Look, I... I know what you did for him, how you helped him," Vivien then said in a low voice, startling Lourdes. "Thank you." Lourdes bit her lip, looking away. Then Tom came striding out of the ante-room, looking harassed, his hair rumpled, the swing doors banging together behind him. Vivien immediately struck a seductive pose, making Lourdes look at her like she was mad. "Can I see him now?" she asked breathily, pushing her hair back almost provocatively.

Tom just stared at her, his breath hitching in his throat despite himself. "Sorry, yeah, I mean, yeah, you can," he said with some difficulty. "He's - he's sitting up now."

Vivien just looked at him, smirking slightly. But in that moment, it was malice and not humour that was in her heart, making her suddenly sashay forwards and kiss the underside of his bearded jaw, her hand running down the length of his arm as her blue eyes innocently met his. Before she could react, Tom had grabbed her wrist, almost twisting it, halting her in his tracks, his face thunderous, his grip unconsciously tightening on her arm.

"Don't start playing that kind of game with me, Vivien," he snapped, not caring Lourdes was listening. "I'm not into bartering flesh for favours."

"Alien flesh or otherwise?" Vivien taunted, tearing herself out of his grip.

"Neither."

They stared at each other, Tom's jaw tightening.

"I'm been playing this game from the beginning," Vivien then hissed, startling him. "Why are you taking the moral high ground now?"

"Because there's a difference between pissing me off and pretending to offer yourself to me on a plate," Tom hissed back. "I think I prefer the former."

Vivien stared at him, insulted against her will. Then she stalked into the ante-room, Tom following her, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her primitive attempts to seduce him onside, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. Yet at the same time, it secretly sickened him to think she thought he was capable of being that corrupt. Ignoring the soldiers, Vivien headed towards the Doctor's lock-up, relieved to see that Tom hadn't lied, that he was sitting up, his face pale in the dim gloom. As she went past, Pope's head shot up, eyes confused.

"Red-Coat, is that you?" Pope asked, getting to his feet.

"Yes, it's me, dickhead," Vivien snapped.

"But you look..." Pope flapped his hand at her, words failing him.

"Breathtakingly beautiful?" Vivien said sarcastically.

"No, you look totally fugly," Pope said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "I'd rather eat my own vomit than... well, you know." He eyed her as though she was a piece of shit on his shoe.

"I hope you choke on it," Vivien said smartly, effectively ending the conversation.

Pope just flipped her the middle finger before slumping back down on the ground again, looked bored out of his skull. Vivien gripped the mesh wire of the Doctor's cage, the difference between lock-up and cage not making any difference to her, appearing all the same. The Doctor got up off the camp bed with some difficulty, stowing away a thick volume under his pillow as he did so.

"You enjoying Keats, then?" Tom asked, stepping forwards.

"I prefer Pope," the Doctor said tetchily.

"Don't prefer me, pal," Pope snapped.

"He's talking about the poet," Tom said, rolling his eyes.

"You have books?" Vivien asked the Doctor, confused.

"Just the one," the Doctor said, sliding his fingers through the mesh wire and over hers, almost clinging to them, Tom turning away, his heart twisting treacherously at the sight of their intertwined fingers.

Vivien glanced at Tom's broad back, guessing he was behind the book. "How are you holding up?" she then asked the Doctor, her voice cracking.

"All the better now you're here," the Doctor whispered.

Vivien smiled brokenly, leaning her head against the mesh, the Doctor doing the same on the other side.

"I wanted to find you," the Doctor said, his own voice cracking now, "but..."

"They shot you?" Vivien finished for him, straightening up.

The Doctor looked away, Tom turning back around, his face carefully careless.

"Hey Cambridge, how come he gets all the perks and I don't?" Pope demanded. "Or are you giving him books to get into her good books?" he said slyly, with a pointed glance at Vivien.

"Shut the hell up," Tom snarled, flushing hotly.

"How are you?" the Doctor asked Vivien in an undertone. "Is it all five star hotels and three course meals?"

"Could be worse," Vivien said flippantly. "I might have ended up in a ditch."

"She's being hunted by the Mechs and Skitters," Tom said abruptly, making the Doctor's head jerk up. "Why, we don't know."

The Doctor just stared at Vivien for a long moment, his ancient eyes searching her face as though he could find the answer there. Vivien stared at him in return, trying to say with silence what she couldn't say with words, her grief over the TARDIS being gone, her fear for his life and her own. "Here," he said suddenly, pulling something small out of his suit pocket, "put this on." He slid it through the mesh and into her hand, Vivien staring at it in confusion. It was a wedding ring, a simple gold band.

"How are you doing that!?" Tom asked exasperated.

"Doing what?" Vivien asked, not really listening as she turned the ring over in her hand.

"Every time we search his pockets, they're empty," Tom explained, "yet time after time he keeps pulling junk out of them. I can't explain it."

"Telepathic tailoring," Vivien said before she could stop herself.

"Excuse me?" Tom asked, confused this time.

"What is this?" Vivien asked the Doctor, ignoring Tom as she held up the ring.

"Bio-damper ring," the Doctor said. "It'll hide you in plain sight."

Vivien raised her eyebrows in expectation for further explanation, but it was in vain.

Tom glanced at the ring, then the Doctor, his brow furrowing. "That will keep her safe?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yes, it'll keep her safe," the Doctor said impatiently, rolling his eyes.

Sighing heavily, Tom took the gold band from Vivien, before slipping it onto her ring finger. "For better and for worse, then," he said darkly.

"You are the saddest man I have ever seen, Mason," Pope said, disgusted.

Vivien took her hand from Tom's, glaring at Pope as she did so. Tom just shook his head before stalking out of the ante-room, the Doctor watching him go with a raised eyebrow.

"What's your beef with him?" Vivien spat at Pope. "He's - he's a good man!" The words escaped her before she could stop them, making her wish she could take them back.

"Am I a good man, Vivien?" the Doctor asked, his dark eyes glittering strangely.

Vivien just shook her head, echoing Tom.

"Does that mean I'm not?" the Doctor said, raising both eyebrows now.

"It doesn't mean anything," Vivien snapped, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the soldiers.

"You should go," the Doctor said, interpreting her glance. "When Mephistopheles is away, the mice will play."

"No" -

\- "Go, Vivien," the Doctor said as one of the soldiers stepped forwards.

Reluctantly, Vivien turned to leave. But as she did, Pope thumped the mesh of his cage.

"Wait up, Red-Coat," Pope said. "My... my brother, was it quick?"

Vivien looked at him in disgust. "Yes, it was," she said against her will.

Pope nodded thoughtfully, pain flickering in his eyes behind the facade. As Vivien made to leave, he spoke again, his voice low. "You better watch your back, bitch," Pope said, "you might have the Professor panting after you, but the rest of his merry band is baying for your blood."

"Don't worry about me, worry about yourself," Vivien said, before turning and leaving the ante-room.


	12. Last Chance

**Author's Note:** _Flames To Dust, _my new extended one-shot centering on Pope's revenge against Tom and Vivien in the aftermath of Sara's death, can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile.

* * *

**Last Chance**

They walked down the empty corridor, Tom slowing down his stride to keep pace with Vivien, matching it to her shorter one. Vivien glanced up at him, before glancing behind them, noting he seemed to have dispensed with the usual assortment of armed guards that kept them company. He'd left her alone with Lourdes as well, the recollection instantly setting her on edge, sensing there was a trap in it somewhere. She said as much, making Tom trip to a halt, his brow furrowing.

"I'm not testing you, Vivien," he said, trying to keep his temper, "I'm _trusting_ you."

"I could have hurt Lourdes," Vivien pointed out.

"You didn't," Tom snapped, "and you won't. And anyways, there were armed guards on the doors outside" -

\- "Exactly, they were _outside_" -

\- "Look, I'm not letting you wander wild and free," Tom spat, "but I'm not going to stick you in a cage either. Having you under armed guard is for your protection as much as ours. However, I don't see the need to have you surrounded every second of the day. As of now, I am more than capable of containing you if you committed the error of attempting to overpower me" -

\- "Why do you talk like a textbook?" Vivien cut across him, twisting her head up into a bun, the style lending her features a pinched look. "Is it a history professor thing?"

Tom just shook his head, turning away from her.

"You know, I _am_ a high security prisoner, _Thomas_," Vivien reminded him, letting her hair fall across her shoulders again. "Maybe you should start treating me like one."

Tom just kept his face averted, refusing to meet her pointed gaze, hackles rising at being addressed so formally.

"Look, I'm sorry about before," Vivien said, suddenly switching tack, making Tom finally look at her, "I shouldn't have tried to pull that stunt on you. It was... it was stupid." She hung her head, refusing to meet Tom's own pointed gaze this time.

"Of course it was stupid," Tom retorted. "Why on earth would someone like you go for someone like me?"

Vivien raised her head at this, staring at him in disbelief. "I wasn't trying to win your heart, Tom," she then said from between gritted teeth, "I was trying to play you for a fool so I could bust the Doctor out this shit-hole before your lot put another bullet in him."

"Well, whatever it was, don't try the same tactic on Jamil," Tom said, shouldering his rifle higher, "he's been warned not to even look your way again."

"He was only being friendly" -

\- "That I don't doubt," Tom said coldly, "Jamil's one of the good guys. That's why he's been told to keep his distance. He might find himself moved to help you."

Vivien stared at him again, her jaw tightening. "You helped me," she said with some difficulty, "and you're still helping me."

"I'm not a soft touch," Tom said tersely. "Unlike Jamil."

"I think you _are_ a soft touch," Vivien challenged, folding her arms across her chest. "You keep spouting this psychobabble about trusting me and keeping me safe - I mean, you're starting to sound like some life-sized Care Bear, for chrissake" -

To her surprise, Tom burst out laughing, not the bitter unwilling laughter of before, but a genuine boyish mirth, making him suddenly look younger. "Seriously, a Care Bear?" he said, leaning against the wall.

"You've practically got a bear-skin on your face, so yeah," Vivien said, shrugging her shoulder. "Care Bears all the way, baby."

"I'm more a Paddington man, myself," Tom said lightly.

"How... quaint," Vivien said, smirking now. "And there's me having you down as a man of mystery."

"I'm a man of mystery?" Tom said doubtfully, thinking of how he'd walked into a wall earlier, Vivien thankfully not there to witness his humiliation.

"Why else do you think there's all this tension between us?" Vivien pointed out, leaning against the wall beside him. "You're an enigma, and I'm the mousy young woman trying to work you out, the sight of your beautiful beard sending me into transports of wild delight" -

Tom snorted at this. "Didn't I say you were mental?" he said, repressing a reluctant grin.

"I don't think mental quite covers it," Vivien said tiredly, half closing her eyes as she leant her head back against the wall.

Tom glanced around him, seized by a strange fit of daring. "Look, let's start again," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush, startling Vivien. "I was a history professor. What were you?"

Vivien stared at him, her black brows drawing together. "Hey, you're not just fishing for further information, are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nope," Tom said, shaking his head, "this is strictly off the record."

Vivien looked at him for a long moment again, caught by his boyishness once more, how different it made him, younger and less stern. Tom studied her in return, his dark eyes meeting hers, holding her gaze, making her heart thump erratically in her chest. "I was a toilet attendant," she said quickly, covering up her confusion, "and I happen to hate history."

"What!?" Tom exclaimed, straightening up. "Why!?"

"I just do," Vivien said, face tripping her. "I hated school full-stop. I dropped out when I was sixteen, no qualifications or anything."

"Hey, it's never too late to take up the reins of learning again," Tom said earnestly, looking down at her, his eyes alight with scholarly enthusiasm. "Even if it's just reading a chapter of Harry Potter, it's still a start."

"I don't like reading," Vivien said, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm barely literate."

Tom just looked at her like she'd just said she liked to eat small children for breakfast. "You hate books?" he asked in disbelief.

"I bet you live and breathe them," Vivien said darkly.

Tom laughed, almost against his will. "I do," he said, "ever since I was a little boy. They took me away into another world."

"What, like an escape?"

"Something like that," Tom said vaguely, staring off into the distance.

Vivien studied him for a moment. "Is that why you like history, then?" she asked, curious.

He nodded. "History opens a door into the past that anybody can step through," he said quietly, face thoughtful.

Vivien thought of the TARDIS's blue doors, before forcing herself to forget, the memory hurting her heart too much.

"My favourite area of history is military history," Tom said, breaking into her thoughts. "If I live and breathe anything, it's that."

"Why?"

"For its themes - valour, nobility and honour," Tom said more to himself than Vivien.

Silence.

"Why did you drop out of school?" Tom suddenly asked, startling her.

"I got knocked up," Vivien said bluntly.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed," Vivien echoed sarcastically. "I had a baby, big deal."

"What... what happened?" Tom asked, curiosity overcoming caution.

"She's dead... I mean, she died, a long time ago - for me anyways," Vivien said with great difficulty, before looking away, tears stinging her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Tom said awkwardly, running his hand across his beard.

Vivien looked away, her chin trembling.

"What was her name?" Tom asked gently.

"Alice, after my mother."

"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," Tom observed, remembering what Vivien had said of her mother knowing the Doctor.

"My other daughter, she was going to be called Amelia," Vivien said quietly, "I guess I had a thing for the letter A."

"You know, I always thought if I had a daughter, I would call her Alexis," Tom mused, "but at the same time, I always hoped I wouldn't - every time one of my sons were born, it always felt like I'd had a lucky escape. I used to stand in the hospital corridor and just cheer with sheer relief."

Vivien stared at him, shocked. "Why the hell would you do that?" she asked incredulously.

"I... I was afraid of having a daughter," Tom admitted reluctantly, "I couldn't imagine tea-parties, princesses and boyfriends - all that pink and glitter. I mean, come on, look at me, I'm not exactly a glittery kind of guy."

Vivien raised her eyebrows.

"Look, I was never any good with women," Tom said, starting to get annoyed, "I met my wife by nearly breaking her neck through tripping her up. It took nearly twenty years of marriage for me to get over my fear of women full-stop. Even talking to you has its trials, and you're not even" -

\- "Human?" Vivien finished for him.

* * *

The Doctor and Pope were having another staring contest, the spectacle secretly amusing the soldiers. For them, the shock of discovering there were other aliens than Mechs and Skitters had now worn off, even if the alien in question looked human and spoke with an English accent, but the shock was still hitting Pope like a tidal wave. For once in his life, he couldn't formulate a scathing sentence to express his feelings.

"Good morrow, my luxuriously maned friend," the Doctor said cheerfully, bestowing a brilliant smile on Pope.

"This ain't some Shakespearean tragedy, buddy," Pope managed to choke out. "Why doesn't ET phone home and get the hell off this planet?" he fired at the soldiers, who just ignored him.

"ET was merely a figment of Spielberg's imagination," the Doctor sighed heavily, "but unfortunately for you, I won't be suffering the same fate. I'll still be here, bedazzling and bewildering you with my brilliance and Brilliantine."

"_How_ the _hell_ can this _asshole _be an _alien?_" Pope said to himself in disbelief.

"How can you wear leather trousers?" the Doctor retorted. "What about the chafing, old chap, the _chafing!_?"

Pope just buried his face in his hands, unable to bear the contradiction in the cage opposite anymore. He had been here for hours now, and the Doctor was driving him mad, making him regret giving up his broom closet. In there, he at least had peace and quiet; in here, it was like Bedlam, the Doctor alternating between delivering Latin sermons and declaiming in Danish. The only bright spot on Pope's horizon was the hot Hispanic doctor the 2nd Mass had on duty, the sway of her hips distracting him from his otherworldly woes. Even as he kept his hands to himself, his eyes wandered at their own freewill, annoying Lourdes no end.

As if on cue, Lourdes came through the swing doors, carefully carrying a glass of water for the Doctor. She'd noticed the responsibility of his care was beginning to become solely her responsibility, Anne washing her hands of him, Tom too entangled with Vivien to care for anyone else.

"Well, well," Pope said, taking in Lourdes from top to toe for the umpteenth time as she passed his prison, "it's Jenny from the block. How about taking my temperature, sweetheart? I'm feelin' a little hot under the collar."

"Leave her alone," the Doctor said dangerously, turning a page of his poetry book over.

"And what are you gonna do about it if I don't?" Pope said, standing up. "Fire lasers out of your eyes?"

The soldiers looked at each other, Lourdes squirming slightly as she waited for them to open the entrance to the Doctor's lock-up, wishing they would get a move on so she could leave.

"Unless you shut up, I'm going to make a certain part of your anatomy shrivel up," the Doctor said, turning yet another page, "so I suggest you make up your mind over which one it's going to be."

The soldier finally unlocked the cage entrance, Lourdes hastily leaving the glass of water on the ground, before making a quick exit, glancing over her shoulder at the Doctor as she went.

"She seems to like you," Pope said, watching the doors swing shut behind her.

"It's my natural animal magnetism," the Doctor said lightly, nodding at the soldier as she locked him in again, enjoying infuriating her.

"More like alien magnetism," Pope scoffed. "Is that how you got Red-Coat? Did you hook her with your two hearts?"

"She's just my friend," the Doctor said, sounding bored.

"Well, she's not going to be your 'friend' for much longer," Pope said, curling his fingers into sarcastic quotation marks, "not with the way Mason's wooing her. He's sticking his neck out for her, and no guy's gonna do that without expecting some return on his investment. "

"His nose errs on the extreme side of large," the Doctor said, yawning. "Vivien has taste, my friend, _taste_."

"And her taste seems to run to towering Thomases," Pope countered.

"Whatever."

"You haven't seen what I've seen, _friend_," Pope said, sitting down again, "so I wouldn't be so quick to diss and dismiss our dear Professor."

"Talk to the hand, Pope," the Doctor said, proffering his palm, "talk to the hand."

* * *

"I thought you weren't sticking me in a cage," Vivien said dryly, eying the mesh-wire with disdain. The issue of containing Vivien had been accidentally solved by Jimmy, who'd discovered the boiler room on one of the lower levels after snooping around the school when he should have been on perimeter patrol, poking his nose into overlooked corners. The boiler room, much like the lock-ups, had a mesh-wire door dividing the area in half, secured by a sturdy lock. Despite the dust and cobwebs, Tom had thought it suitable enough for a stop-gap, providing a rickety chair for Vivien to sit on until he sourced a spare sleeping bag for her.

To Tom's annoyance, the chair had been removed, and the guards he'd appointed gone, replaced by the double-denimed man and Danner. Ignoring Vivien's observation, Tom strode forwards, on the edge of losing his temper. "Where the hell are Heather and Anthony?" he demanded, making Danner take a step back despite himself. "I requested them especially!"

"Weaver overruled your... request," the double-denimed man drawled, leaning against the scarred brickwork.

Tom just stared at him, jaw working. "Where's the goddamn chair?" he said through gritted teeth.

"What chair?" the double-denimed man smirked.

"The fricking wooden chair I left here, that's what!"

"Ain't no chair here, boss man."

Tom half turned away from him, running his hand across his beard.

"Calm down, Mason," Danner said slowly, looking at Tom like he was nuts, "you're going to end up taking a heart attack."

"Yeah, calm down," Vivien echoed, stepping forwards. "It's just a chair."

"The chair was for _you _to sit on," Tom said, at the end of his tether. "Now it's goddamn gone!"

"I can live without a chair, Tom," she said quietly, looking worried against her will. "It's not the end of the world."

The double-denimed man scoffed, startling Tom and Vivien both. "Thanks to your lot, it is," he said, "fuckin' end of days now."

Tom just shook his head, before turning his back on the other man, blocking him from Vivien's view. "Look, I'll go and get you another chair," he said, running his hand across his beard again, "so just sit tight till I come back, okay?"

"Sit tight?" Vivien said, raising a black brow. "On what exactly?"

"Just... just wait here," Tom said, making for the door, "and behave yourself, yeah?"

"Anything for you, angel cake," Vivien taunted, blowing him a kiss.

Tom just rolled his eyes, repressing a reluctant grin before leaving, closing the door behind him. He was half way down the hall when he heard Vivien scream, before the sound was abruptly cut off by a single gun-shot. He didn't remember running, but somehow he was back in the boiler room, only to be confronted by the sight of Vivien sprawled on the ground, limbs asplay like a broken doll, blood pooling round her body, the double-denimed man locked in a stand-off with Danner, guns trained on one another.

"Drop it, Grey," Danner ordered, sweat beading on his brow, "and drop it now!"

"Who's side are you, Lieutenant?" Grey spat. "Hers or the human race's?"

Tom came forwards, hands raised, shock numbing him, giving him the strength to speak. "Just - just drop the gun, Grey," Tom said, voice cracking, the other man's name unfamiliar on his lips, having never known it until this moment. "You don't need to do this - Danner's just covering your back, man." But just then, his gaze slid sideways to Vivien so still and pale, her black hair fanning around her bloodless face, and he nearly lost his cool, rage almost overruling him. But he held it together, just barely, his shaking hand hovering above his holster, knowing he wouldn't have time to draw it.

"I don't think so," Grey sneered. "Danner's only coverin' his own back, not mine, not in a million years.'

"You should have seen this coming, Mason," Danner hissed, "this is your goddamn doing!"

"_My _doing!?" Tom exclaimed, shaking from head to foot now. "You just let a civilian get the jump on you!"

"He's taken down your little tart anyways" -

\- "Fuck you!"

"You were keeping that thin' like a damn dog!" Grey bellowed at Tom. "I just did what had to be done!"

But just as he said this, Vivien stirred, a faint moan escaping her lips, her eyelids flickering. Time seemed to slow down and speed up, Grey turning his gun on Vivien, Tom throwing himself forwards, Danner turning his own gun on Grey, and then Tom was no more, the gunshot echoing in his ears, the last thing he heard before the darkness came to claim him.

_Oh, there's no one left to call  
Nothing much to say  
Pretty sure the world is gonna end today…_


	13. You Are Not Alone

**You Are Not Alone**

Vivien sat down on the camp bed, her hands shaking as she watched Tom rifle through one of the bags for a clean shirt, his old one covered in blood, and torn at the shoulder. Grey was dead, Danner putting a bullet between his eyes, after Grey tried and failed to put one between Tom's. As Tom had observed earlier, Grey couldn't shoot straight, and it was this that had saved Tom and Vivien's lives. The bullet had just grazed Tom's temple, Vivien being shot clean through the shoulder instead of the heart like Grey had originally intended.

There had been an almighty row, Weaver hitting the roof, but the damage had already been done. Like a spark to the fuse, the 2nd Mass were in uproar, Weaver calling an impromptu war council which Tom had turned into a talking shop, addressing the civilians and soldiers as if he _understood_, sweet-talking them into standing down, securing a short-term reprieve. But for once he didn't care, only thinking about seeking sanctuary in his room and holding his sons close in the silence, shutting out what remained of the world.

But Vivien had ruined any hopes he had of refuge, forcing him to send his sons outside, where they were now playing catch in the fading light, trying to pretend nothing had happened when it had, the shock still hitting Tom like a tidal wave, even though he'd been through worse. With nowhere to put Vivien, Tom trusting nobody but himself with her welfare, he'd taken her to his own quarters, stationing Dai and Anthony outside his door.

Vivien had been checked over and bandaged up, Anne reluctantly stitching her up, before even more reluctantly prescribing some painkillers out of their limited stock. After that, Tom had let Vivien see the Doctor, if only to shut the alien up, the Doctor kicking off in spectacular style after learning she'd been shot, and now here they were, at an impasse, Vivien watching him with wide eyes, her chin trembling. Sighing heavily, Tom took his ruined checked shirt off, Vivien doing a double-take at the scars on his broad back, not even thinking she should look away as he got changed or that he should undress elsewhere.

"What happened to your back?" she asked hoarsely, her fingers curling round the metal edge of the camp bed.

"It was my father," Tom said quietly, quickly pulling on a blue plaid button-down shirt, "he liked going out on the lash and he liked lashing me, so there you have it." Ignoring Vivien's aghast face, he pulled out one of Hal's long sleeved tops from the pile of clothes, silently handing it to her before going into his sons' room, buttoning up his shirt as he moved, leaving her to get changed.

When Tom had judged enough time had passed for her to be decently dressed, he returned back to his own room, Vivien glancing up as he came through the doorway. She was clutching the ruined red smock top in her hand, the TARDIS key tucked out of sight underneath the high neckline of Hal's grey top. It fitted her well enough, both Hal and her being of roughly the same height, but it drained the colour from her already pale face, lending a strange corpse-like aspect to her features.

"Put it in the laundry pile over there," Tom instructed, dumping his own dirty shirt.

"It's ripped," Vivien said, brow furrowing.

"You can sew, can't you?"

Vivien nodded.

"Well, we make do and mend around here," Tom explained, taking the smock top from her, "waste not and want not." He chucked the top onto the pile, hesitating, before sitting down beside Vivien on the camp bed, the springs creaking beneath him. To his relief, she didn't cringe or edge away from him, just remaining where she was, their hands almost but not quite touching.

"A man's dead... because... because of _me_," she said with a weird sort of wonder, sounding strangely childish.

"Don't... don't think about it," Tom said, exhaling sharply. "Just don't."

At this she got up, crossing the room, putting distance between them, distance Tom destroyed by following her, his footsteps making Vivien whirl around. "Leave me alone!" she spat, tears burning her eyes.

Tom stared at her, before retreating to the window instead, turning his back on her. Vivien sat down on the edge of the desk, curling her shaking hands into fists, feeling like she was about to fall. A man was dead because of her. The fact he'd tried to kill her at point blank range hadn't registered yet, Vivien still in deep shock, her head reeling with reality.

"You'll - you'll be staying here," Tom said with some difficulty, turning back round to face her, "for the time being anyways" -

\- "I don't want to be here" -

\- "Jesus Christ, I'm not going to try anything," Tom exploded, "you're safe here, okay? You're safe with _me_."

Vivien stared at him, her hand flying to her shoulder, reminding Tom of how he'd failed her.

"I'm sorry," he said, half turning away from her, "I'm... I'm just sorry, alright?"

"You said this would happen," she said dully, making him glance up at her, "that you couldn't stop bullets with your bare hands."

"Yeah, I did," Tom said, just wanting to be away from her, "but it won't happen again" - Vivien turned her back on him this time, cutting him off. "Well, I'm - I'm going to take a nap now," he said awkwardly, feeling like a fool, his fists clenching and clenching by his sides. "I haven't had any sleep for at least the past twenty four hours, so you're going to have to shift for yourself. S'long as you don't try to kill me in my sleep, we're good."

But she didn't answer him, only hunching her shoulders slightly, shutting him out.

* * *

Vivien glanced at the darkening sky, trying not to think of where the TARDIS could be, what might be happening to her, the TARDIS key cold against her flesh, a constant reminder reinforcing her pain. Sitting down on the edge of the desk, ignoring her aching shoulder, she twisted the gold band around her finger, once again trying and failing to work out why she was being hunted, and why the group of Skitters had spared her, only to draw a complete blank.

She stared at Tom for what seemed like the umpteenth time, studying his bearded face now slack in sleep, taking in his irregular features and how he was too tall for the camp bed, a good portion of his lower body hanging off the edge. He slept with his arms folded across his chest like a mummy, something that amused her against her will despite everything.

Biting her lip, she stood up, before walking around the room, prowling its length, bypassing the pile of bags bursting with clothes and personal items, focusing instead on the photos Hal had set out on one of the bookshelves just above Tom's camp bed, unaware it was a ritual of sorts Hal carried out whenever they made camp, arranging the photos in the same order every time.

Vivien glanced down at Tom again, making sure he was still asleep, before reaching over and lifting up what was the centrepiece of the display, an awkwardly staged family photograph, the type taken in a studio. In the picture, the Mason family were the epitome of middle-class domesticity, Tom almost unrecognizable, dressed in a shirt and tie, face clean-shaven, dark eyes filled with that earnest boyish expression that reluctantly caught Vivien so. His wife sat beside him, glamorous and groomed, with long blonde Veronica Lake hair, their sons sitting on the floor in front of them, Vivien realising the slightly dorky looking boy in the middle was Tom's missing son, Ben.

"Enjoying the picture-show?" Tom asked, startling Vivien.

"For fuc" - she began before falling silent at the sight of Tom's face. "I'm sorry," she then said, setting the photo back on the shelf.

"What for?" Tom said, propping himself up on his elbow.

"For pawing through your pictures," Vivien said guiltily.

"Can't blame you for trying to get into the head of your enemy," Tom said sarcastically, "if I were you, I'd want to know what made me tick too."

Vivien looked away, her chin trembling, making Tom relent against his will.

"Look, just... just meet me in the middle somewhere, Vivien," Tom said tiredly, sitting up. "That's all I'm asking."

"How can I?" Vivien said, voice cracking. "We exist on opposite ends of the spectrum to one another."

Tom hesitated, wrongfooted. "I know you can protect yourself," he said quietly, trying a different tactic, "but this is a whole different ball game, one you don't know how to play" -

\- "How can you play it better than I can?" Vivien challenged, blue eyes blazing. "What just happened was an epic fail on your part. You're no better than me at playing the so called game, so don't make out you are."

Tom looked away, conceding defeat. Vivien was right, and he was wrong. She'd been shot on his watch, breaking all the rules. He hadn't learned his lesson after what happened with the Doctor, and she'd suffered for it. Without thinking, he took her bandaged hand in his, startling Vivien. But she didn't draw back from him, some other instinct overruling her. "I'm sorry," he said simply, "I'm sorry for failing you."

Vivien studied him, her jaw tightening. "It doesn't matter," she said, "it happened. Que sera, and all that shit."

Tom just studied her in return, before letting go of her hand, half turning away from her. Vivien got to her feet, making Tom glance up at her, dark eyes distant. She bit her lip, chin trembling again, and almost in a daze, she reached out and smoothed back his hair, her touch turning Tom to stone. Without a word, she leaned down, her lips brushing his brow, where the bullet had scraped his skin, and then she was gone, retreating to the window, looking out at what was left of her world, Tom sinking back onto the camp bed, his heart at war with himself.

_Well, I know when it's finally done  
This whole life's a hallucination  
You're not alone in anything  
You're not alone in trying  
To be…_

* * *

Night had finally fallen, Tom getting up from the camp bed to go and fetch in his sons, Vivien taking another Tylenol, the pain making its crippling presence felt again. Just as Tom headed for the door, Matt burst through it, cheering as he did so, a world away from the hysterical little boy back at the clinic. "I won! I won!" he crowed, grabbing his father's knee with one hand whilst punching the air triumphantly with the other.

"We weren't even racing," Hal said irritably as he came through the door balancing two trays with admirable aplomb.

"We so were," Matt protested.

"How you holding up, old man?" Hal asked Tom as he set the trays on the desk, Vivien eying them with some disgust.

"I'll live," Tom said lightly, ruffling up Matt's hair.

"That's my top you're wearing," Hal said suddenly to Vivien, startling her.

"So?" Vivien said before she could stop herself.

"So, it's mine," Hal retorted.

"Let it be, Hal," Tom said, sitting down in the desk chair as Matt clambered up into his lap. "Here," he said, pushing the other tray over to Vivien, "you must be starving." As she stood there, Tom picked up his plastic fork, ready to tuck in, only to stop short at Vivien's face. "What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"I... I hate chicken," Vivien said, gesturing to the tray.

"Sorry," Tom said, handing her his plate and picking up the other, "I didn't know."

As Vivien began to morosely pick at the vegetables, Tom valiantly tackled the chicken, trying not to let his disgust show.

"The chicken _is _vile by the way," Hal said, making a face at Matt who pulled one back, "Mattie here nearly threw his up."

"Don't call me Mattie," Matt protested.

"Hey, no fighting," Tom admonished, turning his attention to the rice instead. "I'm going out to look for Ben tomorrow," he then said to Hal, making his son sit up, every inch of him on sudden alert, "properly this time, no more hit and runs."

"But Weaver's got me on night sentry duty for the rest of this week," Hal snapped, "as well as keeping me and Karen on standby for any scouting he needs done."

"You can still keep an eye out," Tom said, "and that way we can cover more ground."

Hal nodded reluctantly, looking like he wanted to punch a wall.

"Can the Doctor get a tray?" Vivien asked Tom quietly, taking advantage of the lull in the conversation.

"Lourdes is dealing with that," Hal interjected.

"Thanks," Vivien said uneasily, glancing down at her plate again.

"I better get going," Hal said abruptly, getting to his feet, unable to stand being in Vivien's company for much longer.

"Take care," Tom said, holding his hand out to Hal, who took it.

"Always do," Hal said, knotting his fingers through Tom's.

Tom just nodded, Hal nodding back, before suddenly stooping down and hugging his father, Tom wrapping his arm around Hal's shoulder, holding his son close, Matt throwing both arms around his father and brother.

"Group hug!" Matt bellowed.

"Whoa, watch it little man," Tom said, wincing, "walking wounded here."

"Okay, I really have to go now," Hal said, straightening up, "or I might miss the fun."

"What, you constitute freezing your off ass as fun?" Tom said, pretending to frown. "I thought I raised you better than that, son."

"Your idea of fun is arrange your books in alphabetical order, Dad," Hal said, rolling his eyes, "so I can hardly expect you to understand my idea of it."

"Spoken like a true Mason," Tom said, "I might just make a history professor of you yet."

"If you do, I'll be very surprised," Hal said, making for the door. "Bye, Mattie," he taunted his little brother, waggling his fingers at him.

"Jackass," Matt muttered, making Vivien snort into her vegetables.

"Hey, watch your language," Tom reprimanded.

"You have rice in your beard," Matt said contemptuously.

"Thank you for that impertinent observation," Tom said sarcastically, wiping his beard clean with his wrist, "I'm very grateful."

"Whatever," Matt said, sliding off his knee, "I'm going to bed." As he made for his room, he stopped at the door, seeming to hesitate. "Good-night, Vivien," Matt said in a rush, nearly making Vivien spit out her mouthful of rice.

"Good-night," she replied, recovering herself.

"You owe me a bedtime story," Matt then fired at his father, before disappearing through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

"Whoa, your kid is a force of nature," Vivien said, turning to Tom.

"So are you," Tom pointed out, picking up his plate again.

"What was with the 'goodnight Vivien'?" she asked, brow furrowing.

Tom just shrugged his shoulders, as in the dark as she was. Out of all his sons, Matt was the most unpredictable, possessing a mercurial streak that drove Tom round the bend. He knew his son was curious about Vivien, the forbidden always luring Matt into mischief, often getting him into trouble. Sighing heavily, sensing trouble ahead, Tom got up out of his chair, making Vivien's brow furrow.

"Where you going?" she asked, confused.

"As you heard, I owe his Highness a bedtime story," Tom said, repressing a yawn, "so you can have my seat. I may be a while."

"I'll just put the finishing touches to my escape plan while you're gone," Vivien said deadpan, sitting down.

"You do that," Tom countered tiredly, lifting up his plate. "I'm needing a good holiday." And with that, he was gone, steeling himself for reading _Cinderella _for the umpteenth time.


	14. Depth Over Distance

**Depth Over Distance**

Vivien hugged her knees to her chest, the silence drilling into her skull, the TARDIS key cold against her flesh, still hidden out of sight. After sending back the dishes to be cleaned, Tom had then took himself next door, kipping down for the night on Hal's camp bed, leaving Vivien on her own. After what had felt like forever, she'd eventually fallen into an uneasy sleep, waking up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed, only to find herself alone and imprisoned, Tom and Matt long gone.

Her breakfast had consisted of a solitary bowl of oatmeal and carton of apple juice left for her on the desk by Tom, Vivien falling upon the food like a starving wolf, all but licking the bowl clean. She'd taken some more Tylenol, trying to blot out the ever increasing pain, the numbness now mercifully kicking in. As she'd recognized before, her body had reached its breaking point, taking a bullet almost pushing it over the edge.

She'd attempted to tidy herself up a bit, finger-combing her hair before braiding it back, fastening the end with an elastic band she'd found in one of the desk drawers. There were no mirrors to be found anywhere for love or money, but judging by the Mason family's generally unkempt appearance, Vivien figured they had no use for them.

After that, there had been nothing for Vivien to do but pace the floor, boredom swiftly setting in, giving her too much time to dwell on what had happened to her. Her thoughts had turned in all directions; on being hunted by one side and held prisoner by another; Grey's death, how she'd almost died at his hands; the Doctor denied to her and the TARDIS taken; Vivien not understanding any of it except that it felt like she was trapped in a spider's web. Now here she was, curled up on the camp bed, hugging her knees to herself, time ticking too slowly for her taste.

Wishing in vain for a cigarette to steady her nerves, she glanced up in surprise as the door opened, not expecting Tom to be back so soon from searching for his son, only to see it was Weaver carrying Matt in his arms, balancing the little boy on his hip like he was a baby, Matt clutching his nose with both hands, blood dripping down his chin. Vivien did a double-take, before hastily clambering off the camp bed, her stomach dropping somewhere near her feet.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded as Weaver dumped Matt down on the desk.

"Never mind that," Weaver growled, "can you help him?"

"Why don't you take him to Anne or Lourdes?" Vivien said, confused.

"One of the civilians took a heart attack," Weaver said abruptly, making for the door, "so they've got their hands full."

"Is his nose broken?" Vivien asked, becoming even more bewildered.

"Why don't you check for yourself?" Weaver said, reaching for the door handle.

"But I'm not qualified," Vivien said, starting to panic, "I'm - I'm not a doctor or a nurse or anything" -

\- "It's just a bust nose," Weaver snapped, "if you can handle a severed artery, you can handle that, so get to it girl!" And with that, he was gone, slamming the door behind him, leaving Vivien standing there, shocked. Obviously Tom had been talking about what had gone down in the auditorium, making more of her medical skills than he should have, surprising Vivien, remembering how he'd mocked her incompetence.

Her store of knowledge was slim; her skills even slimmer, a hotchpodge that hindered more than helped. What she had learned had been painfully accrued and acquired, but her execution was crude and makeshift, lacking precision and technique. The Doctor said she underestimated herself, but she'd retorted he was overestimating her. But when Matt let out a small whimper, the sound struck Vivien right in the heart, forcing her to focus. Shoving aside her self-doubt, she stuck her head around the door, making the armed guards glance up.

"I need a basin of water," she said abruptly, not wasting time on explanations.

The guards looked at each other, hesitating.

"It's for Tom Mason's son, you fucking idiots," Vivien snapped, "you seen the state he was in, so fucking get to it!"

One of the guards took off, leaving the other to keep watch. Vivien went back inside the waiting room, ransacking the bags full of belongings for a clean cloth or towel, finding what she wanted in a hold-all. As she did, the guard came through the door with a basin, returning sooner than she'd anticipated, the water slopping over the sides as he set the basin down on the desk with a loud bang. As Vivien bustled about, he hung back, getting on Vivien's last nerve, but she forced herself to ignore him, concentrating on the task at hand.

"I need you to sit forwards," Vivien said gently, steering Matt's small hand to his nose so his fingers were on the fleshy part just below the bridge, "and I just need you to pinch under here, and hold it."

Matt did as she said, letting out another whimper.

"It's alright," Vivien soothed, running her hand over his blonde-brown curls, "you're going to be okay." Holding her breath, she tentatively checked the cartilage of his nose, exhaling sharply with relief to find it wasn't broken. He'd just given his nose a good bang, nothing more.

"What happened to him?" the guard asked, startling her.

"I don't know," Vivien said, recovering herself, "you tell me."

"I don't know either," the guard said, shrugging his shoulders, "Weaver just turned up with him."

"You shouldn't be talking to me," Vivien said abruptly.

The guard just shrugged his shoulders again, looking spectacularly unconcerned at what she was saying.

Vivien stared at him for a long moment, before catching herself. "Sorry," she said, shaking her head, "but I think you're supposed to be burning me at the stake."

"Or hangin' you higher than Hamen?" the guard parried, adjusting the strap of his rifle. "Yeah, I've heard that one."

Brow furrowing, Vivien turned back to Matt, relieved to see the bleeding had started to slow a little bit. "Give it about ten minutes or so, and it should have stopped," she told him, "just keep holding that pinch, and remember to breathe through your mouth, alright?"

Matt gave her the thumbs up, wincing slightly.

"If this is some sort of set-up, I'm not falling for it," Vivien warned, glancing up at the guard, "so you can drop the act."

"What act?" the guard protested. "What you see is what you get, sweetheart." He spread his arms wide, making Vivien raise an eyebrow. What was on offer wasn't exactly appealing, his clothes filthy, his face even more so, his hair a riot of unruly brown curls. But beneath the dirt was a firm jaw and steady gaze, his stance that of a soldier's, straight-backed and proud.

"What, you're a honey trap?" Vivien scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "If so, you're the worst one I've ever seen."

"Nah, I forgot, you prefer professors, don't you?" the guard said, grinning at her, revealing a gold tooth.

Vivien turned away from him, pretending to check Matt's nose again. Despite everything, there was something about Tom's dark gaze and broad shoulders that unwillingly held her attention, not that she would admit it. For all his highbrow talk, he was the enemy, and she was his.

"Sorry," the guard apologised, making her glance up at him in surprise, "shouldn't really talk like that in front of the tyke. Little pitchers have ears and shit."

"What's really going on?" Vivien challenged, jaw tightening.

"Beats me," the guard shrugged for the umpteenth time. "I've been totin' this rifle outside your door since dawn."

"Sorry about that," Vivien said, not in the slightest.

"Just doin' my job."

"Couldn't this conversation be classed as insubordination?" Vivien said suddenly, trying another tack.

"What, because you're an alien?"

Vivien nodded, biting her lip.

"You're too pretty to be an alien," the guard grinned, "not with those beautiful eyes."

"I think Weaver would have something to say about you flattering the enemy with false compliments."

"What, you callin' me a liar?" the guard said, feigning hurt. "I's just tellin' you what I'm seein' with my own two eyes, man. Alien or not, you're the prettiest girl I've seen this side of the River Charles."

Vivien shook her head, something about his unthreatening flirting raising her spirits against her will. "I'm not actually an alien," she said slowly, "I'm half, half - half alien, half human."

"What your mom an' pop intermarry?" the guard said, brow furrowing. "Like somethin' out of _Star Trek?_"

"No," Vivien said, shaking her head again, "I... I was taken and changed." She half turned away from him, her voice failing her.

"What, like the harnessed kids?"

"Something like that," Vivien said vaguely, picking up a stapler and turning it over in her hands.

"The guys are sayin' you's with the Skitters," the guard said uneasily, "but I think that's bullshit. You don't look like the kind of girl to hang aroun' with those low-lifes."

"I hang around with the Doctor."

The guard flapped his hand dismissively.

Vivien looked at him for a moment, before turning her attention back to Matt again, relieved to see the bleeding was slowing in earnest now. "What's your name, soldier?" she then asked the guard archly, deliberately forgetting she shouldn't be flirting with the enemy.

"Tector Murphy at your service, ma'am," the guard said, sweeping her a bow.

* * *

When Tom came back, it was only to find Vivien, Tector and Matt arrayed around the desk, engaged in an epic game of Monopoly. The sight of them so made him slam the door shut, startling the trio.

"Dad!" Matt yelled, hurtling himself at his father.

"Hey there, little man," Tom said with some difficulty, trying not to wince as Matt grabbed his leg, the movement jolting through his body.

"Did you find Ben?"

"No, not today," Tom said, voice cracking, "but we're going back out tomorrow."

Matt swallowed hard, fighting his disappointment. Tom glanced up at Vivien, sensing her stare, making her look away, feeling like she was intruding. After Matt's nosebleed had stopped, she'd cleaned him up using a cloth and the basin of cold water, warning him that he couldn't blow or sniff his nose for the next few hours, before sending him off to change his t-shirt for a clean one, chucking his bloodied one into the laundry pile Tom had shown her the night before. Seeing her torn smock top tangled up amongst Tom's t-shirts had given her a funny feeling, like it was an odd omen of what the rest of her life would be like, the dullness of comfortable domesticity grinding her down.

"Murphy, you're meant to be on perimeter duty," Tom pointed out, struggling to keep his temper.

"I was just keepin' an eye on Vivien an' your son here," Tector said tersely.

"Well, you're dismissed now," Tom said just tersely. "Harrison was meant to be out on a run, not covering you so you could come and play board games."

"Sorry, sir," Tector said, wrinkling up his nose.

"Do I stink or something, Murphy?" Tom snapped. But before Tector could frame a respectful negative, Tom turned on him, swift as a snake. "Y'know what - you're on the sanitation crew for the next two weeks," he spat, "see how you like the smell of that."

Tector just saluted Tom before stalking out of the room, all but slamming the door behind him.

"That was way harsh, Dad," Matt said sulkily.

"I want to talk to you, Matthew," Tom said, rounding on his small son, "Weaver told me what happened out in the yard with Wilkins, what he did to you."

Matt looked down at the ground, Vivien getting up out of the seat, sensing she wasn't welcome. But Tom halted her with his hand, surprising her.

"I want to talk to you as well," he said abruptly. "So park your ass."

Against her will, Vivien sat back down, clutching the arm-rests for support.

"Wilkins said you just upped and attacked him," Tom then said quietly to Matt, unconsciously flexing his bruised knuckles.

"He was saying bad things about you and Vivien," Matt said reluctantly, "so I kicked him in the shin."

Tom looked away at this, the tips of his ears turning red, knowing full well what Wilkins had been implying.

"Can't you speak to this... this Wilkins's parents?" Vivien said, speaking up against her will, whilst wondering who on earth would name their son Wilkins. To her, it sounded like something you'd call your butler.

Tom laughed bitterly, Matt looking at Vivien as though she was mad. "Wilkins is a six foot something thirty five year old former star quarterback," Tom said scornfully, "he's not some playground bully."

Vivien stared at Tom in disbelief. "What!?" she said, straightening up. "He's not a kid?"

"Hardly."

"But he busted Matt's nose," Vivien said incredulously.

"He said he didn't."

"Well, he's fucking lying," Vivien snapped, "because I had to clean up the mess."

"Well, he said he didn't."

"But Matt's just a little boy," Vivien said, sounding stunned now, "he could have broken his nose."

"I'm not a little boy," Matt snapped.

"You sure look like one to me," Vivien snapped back. "How old are you, all of seven?"

"I'm nine," Matt scowled.

"Oh," Vivien said, slightly taken aback.

Just then, the door opened, revealing a harried looking Hal.

"We're going out again tomorrow," Tom said, not standing on ceremony.

Hal slumped against the door-frame, his face becoming bitter.

"Would you take Matt out for a moment?" Tom then said, ruffling up Matt's hair. "I have to talk to Vivien in private."

"Sure," Hal said, avoiding looking at Vivien as Tom steered Matt over to him.

Vivien watched as Tom then dropped a kiss on Matt's head, before briefly clasping Hal's shoulder, Vivien realising Hal didn't know about what had happened to his little brother. When he found out, she sensed there would be hell to pay, but Tom seemed anxious to avoid that storm, ushering his sons out into the corridor before closing the door behind him. He then came over to her, careful to keep the desk between them.

"I'm sorry you didn't find your son," Vivien said quietly, breaking the silence.

Tom just nodded, fighting back the sudden tears, feeling like he'd failed his son all over again by not finding him.

"You'll get him back," Vivien said starkly.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Hey" -

\- "Don't 'hey' me," Tom snapped, "I just don't need your empty platitudes, alright?"

Vivien stared at him, before looking away, almost but not quite shaking her head. Tom looked at her for a long moment, his gaze guiltily drifting over her, studying the small changes she'd made to her appearance, taking in her black braid, how it fell down to the small of her back, the loose tendrils of hair framing her pale face, softening its sharp contours.

Biting her lip, Vivien got up out of her seat, edging round the desk so she was standing right in front of Tom, her gaze locking with his, its intensity immobilizing him, rendering him helpless, history repeating itself. Last night, when he couldn't sleep, he'd gotten up and gone back next door, seeking a flask of Scotch purloined from Pope's private stash, downing it like a man dying of thirst, reminding him he truly was his father's son, no matter how far he ran from the reality of his heritage.

In a state of alcohol-induced sentimentality, he'd sat down on the edge of the desk, staying there until the early dawn, watching Vivien toss and turn in her sleep. In the darkness and fuelled by drink, he'd felt like the brooding hero from a Bronte novel, but in the cold light of day, Tom recoiled from the memory, his actions striking him as desperate and not a little disturbing.

"Do you treat all your subordinates like shit or is Tector the exception to the rule?" Vivien said sarcastically, startling him.

"The 2nd Mass is a machine," Tom said from between gritted teeth, recovering himself, "we can't afford to have the cogs doing their own little dance whenever they feel like it."

Vivien stood there, slightly taken back. "Well, maybe you should vent your vexation on that Wilkins wanker instead of your inferiors," she then pointed out, eyes narrowing.

"I did," Tom said, laughing bitterly, flexing his bruised knuckles again. "Maybe a little bit too much."

"Good," Vivien said abruptly.

Silence fell, dividing them, Vivien fiddling with the frayed edge of her bandage.

"I've to escort you to your new holding," Tom said stiffly, making her glance up at him, "it's the lock-up next to the Doctor's, so no smart-ass shit. I... I can't keep covering for you, Vivien." His voice cracked a little, making Vivien take a step forwards, bridging the distance between them.

"Will you miss me?" she said quietly, almost absentmindedly trailing her fingers across his broad expanse of chest.

"Would you quit that shit!?" Tom snapped, grabbing her wrist.

"I was just messing," Vivien snapped back, yanking her hand away, the movement jolting her aching shoulder.

"Well don't," Tom said, at the end of his tether now, "and don't try to dazzle Tector into insubordination either."

"Too late," Vivien said smartly, tilting her chin, "the damage's already been done."

Tom just shook his head at her. "How's Matt?" he said abruptly, changing the subject, sick of it.

"He's alright," Vivien said, "and you should have asked that question several sentences back."

"I've got a lot on my plate, okay?" Tom almost exploded, throwing himself down onto the desk. "So forgive me if my brain blanks out from time to time, yeah?"

"Sorry," Vivien muttered mutinously, turning away from him.

* * *

Vivien leaned her head against the wall, only to wish she hadn't as brick met bump, making her flinch forwards. The Doctor glanced at her through the mesh, half getting up off his camp bed, clutching his side as he did so, but Vivien flapped her hand at him, making him sit back down again. Pope had finally been removed to the boiler room after making one too many improper passes at Lourdes, his desire to escape the Doctor finally granted.

She glanced up as Tom strode through the swing doors, carrying a tray, the plate piled high with the dreaded rice and chicken, the vegetables having run out the day before. Her stomach turned at the sight of it, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. As Tom's gaze met hers, Vivien hastily looked away, focusing on the floor instead, ironically wondering at how history repeated itself. Her eyes had first met his through the bars of a cage, and now here they were, doing the same stupid dance all over again.

"You okay?" Tom asked as he opened the lock-up, sidestepping the soldiers nearby.

"Holding up," Vivien said smartly, "though I could do with that chair you keep banging on about."

"I'm trying to get you a camp bed," Tom said tiredly, closing the door behind him. "Just bear with me."

"I need some more Tylenol as well."

"Y'know, Anne's getting a bit worried about how much you're taking of that stuff," Tom said, brow furrowing as he came over to her.

"I'm in agony, Tom," Vivien retorted, reaching up for the tray with her good arm.

"Okay, okay," Tom said hurriedly, handing her it, "I'll sort something out."

"I'm an alien hybrid," Vivien snapped, "human medicine works different on me than it does the average mortal."

"I said I'd sort something out, okay?"

Vivien just glared up at him. "How long have I been in this shit-hole school anyways?" she said, gesturing around her.

"A few days?" Tom suggested, not exactly sure. "I don't really know."

Vivien exhaled sharply. "It feels longer than that," she said, "like weeks or something."

"It's been a very... intense few days," Tom amended, taking off his rifle and leaning it against the wall before sitting down beside her, "but then again, it's like that every day. Every moment can literally mean life or death. Time becomes irrelevant."

"Tell me about it," Vivien said, setting the tray down on the ground before lifting the plate up, balancing it in her lap instead. "I have to admit, I was surprised at Weaver's sudden change of heart," she then said, cramming some rice into her mouth, her words muffled slightly as she chewed, "one minute he's shoving Matt at me, the next he's shoving me in here."

"Yeah, well you helped Matt," Tom said irritably, "and that's all that counts."

"I wasn't going to," Vivien said, shovelling another forkful of rice into her mouth, "not because I didn't want to - I wasn't sure if I could. I'm not exactly... qualified."

"But you did help him," Tom reiterated.

"Yeah, but next time I might not be able to," Vivien snapped, setting her fork down, "I'm not a doctor."

"_I'm_ the Doctor," the Doctor said grandiosely, making Vivien glance up.

"And don't we know it," Tom said tersely.

The Doctor just inclined his head, reminding Vivien of royalty for a moment.

"Are you not hungry?" Vivien asked him, her brow furrowing.

"I'd rather starve than eat that sorry excuse of a meal," the Doctor said, jerking his head at the plate she was holding.

"Hey, that's all we have," Tom snapped. "This isn't the Ritz."

"And don't _I_ know it," the Doctor said, smiling nastily.

"What's that brown stuff on the chicken anyways?" Vivien asked, poking it with her fork.

"Paprika," Tom said, glaring at the Doctor.

"Paprika on chicken?"

"Uncle Scott's on cooking duty," Tom said, trying to keep his temper. "Not that he's much improvement on our last chef," he added under his breath, remembering past bland culinary offerings. But what had been lacked in imagination before, Uncle Scott was now more than making up for it, much to the detriment of Tom's taste buds. As he brooded, the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of screams, making the soldiers spring to life, Tom hastily getting to his feet, Vivien getting to her own, scattering rice and chicken like confetti.

"What the hell!?" Vivien gabbled stupidly, involuntarily grabbing Tom's arm.

"Stay here," Tom said, snatching up his rifle, "I'll come back for you, I promise." His dark eyes burned into hers, and she nodded, accepting his will against her will. Before she could react, his lips were brushing her brow, his hands on her hips as if they belonged there, and then he was gone, as if he had never been.

_Depth over distance was all I asked of you__  
__And I may be foolish to fall as I do...__  
_


	15. The Ghosts We Become

**The Ghosts We Become **

The soldiers remained at their posts, rifles at the ready, fighting their first instinct to throw themselves into the fight, Vivien watching the doors swing shut behind Tom, feeling like she was going to throw up, an inexplicable terror twisting her gut. She turned to the Doctor, her gaze colliding with his through the wire, all of time and space hanging in the balance between them. Then the ground began to shake, an ominous drone cutting through the screams like they were paper, transporting Vivien right back to the Blitz, resurrecting memories she didn't want to remember -

Then the static hit, the present destroying the past, Vivien suddenly letting out a terrible scream before slumping to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Vivien!" the Doctor shouted, flinging himself against the mesh, ignoring the agony in his side. "_Vivien!_"

As Vivien started seizing on the floor, one of the houses opposite the school exploded, rocking the building. Then Mechfire and gunfire were colliding, humanity fighting a losing battle. As the building rocked again, Anne and Lourdes came rushing through the swing doors, their faces bloodless, bodies shaking from head to foot. Upon seeing Vivien fitting, Lourdes dropped to her knees, rolling Vivien onto her side into the recovery position, Anne rushing over to the Doctor, pulling a key out of her pocket.

"What the hell are you doing!?" one the soldiers yelled, ducking as another explosion hit.

"We're evacuating everyone," Anne gasped, undoing the padlock with trembling fingers.

"You can't let him out!"

But Anne just ignored him, the Doctor barging past her, flinging himself down beside Vivien, all but elbowing Lourdes out of his way. He dug his fingertips into Vivien's temples, his touch making her fall suddenly and shockingly still, her teeth unconsciously clenching together. As his consciousness collided with hers, he almost lost the connection, the sheer force of impact nearly knocking his psyche sideways. But he forced himself to focus, his face contorting with pain as he heard what she heard, his eyes scrunching up with her agony.

"We have to go!" Lourdes cried, grabbing the wall for support as the building shook again.

"She can hear them," the Doctor said in disbelief.

"What, and you can't?" Anne snapped sarcastically, struggling to keep her balance, not even knowing what he was talking about.

"I can," the Doctor said, "but not like this. She's hearing them all wrong. The signal's all screwed as she would say." He studied Vivien's slack face almost thoughtfully, his own face still twisted with her pain, but unlike her, he could accommodate the agony, shifting the static aside, allowing him to sort through it.

"Well, what are they saying then!?" Anne bellowed, coughing on the dust starting to swirl through the air.

"I don't know!" the Doctor retorted. "The TAR - it's no longer translating! It's all gobbledegook and gumption! All I can tell the vernacular is colloquial - but the nomenclature is nothing I've ever come across before, the dialect obscure and almost incomprehensible. I don't understand a single syllable that's being said."

"But what are you hearing?" Lourdes said, wrapping her arms around her head. "_Who_ are you hearing?"

"The Skitters," the Doctor said impatiently, "I'm hearing the Skitters."

"But _how?_" Lourdes said in disbelief.

"Never mind how," the Doctor said, unsteadily getting to his feet, lifting Vivien up in his arms bridal style, "I can stop this - _we _can stop this."

* * *

_Vivien raised her aching head, déjà-vu distorting her senses, making her feel like she was in two places at once. She seemed to be leaning against something, her back propped up by proud blue wood, the shade striking her heart like an arrow. It was the TARDIS, the only home she'd ever known. Vivien remained rooted to the spot, not understanding and not wanting to. But she knew she'd been here before without really being here, her mind half remembering the flickering beats of crimson, amber and gold pulsing around her like a human heart. _

_A flash of movement caught her eye, Vivien's head snapping up, only to see a young woman pass through an archway up ahead, her long white blonde hair rippling down her back. She wore a crimson kirtle, its flowing lines emphasising her slender frame, its train swirling around her ankles like smoke. She glided past Vivien without even glancing at her, her eyes oddly blue, the pupils unnaturally dilated, highlighting the unearthly pallor of her pretty face. Her every step spoke of intent; whoever or whatever she was looking for, it wasn't Vivien, but somebody or something else altogether. _

_Standing up, her knees almost buckling beneath her, Vivien reached out to the TARDIS, seeking sanctuary, only for her palm to pass through the blue doors, the TARDIS rippling in response, almost like a mirage in the desert. Vivien took a step back, starting to panic now, the world colliding around her like a kaleidoscope before reforming into its original shape, making her head spin even further. _

_Then a shadow fell across her, making her wildly glance up, only to see Tom, overly tall and awkward, his phantom flickering then fading, becoming a towering hooded figure with long scissor-like limbs and icy optics instead, its three fingered hand reaching out to her, like she'd reached out to the TARDIS. But reality didn't splinter and shatter into shards. There was no escape to be found in illusion, and as its cold palm cradled her cheek, Vivien closed her eyes, placing her trust in the darkness instead of the light. _

_My ghost  
Where'd you go?  
What happened to the soul that you used to be?_

* * *

As Weaver threatened to wear a hole in the carpet with his relentless pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard, Tom just sat there, staring into space, the silence drilling into his skull. He'd been outside, leading the assault on the approaching Mechs, the sight of them making his heart stop in his chest, when the Doctor had burst through the front doors of the school, carrying Vivien in his arms, soldiers and fighters flanking them on either side, bullets flying through the air.

Tom had lunged forwards, thinking the Doctor had lost his mind, but Dai had grabbed his arm, halting him, sensing something was about to go down. They'd watched the Doctor lower Vivien to the ground, kneeling down before her, gently taking her face between his hands, his own contorting, Vivien suddenly screaming, the sound tearing Tom apart, making him lunge forwards again, Dai jumping on his back, dragging him down.

But as she'd screamed, the Mechs had started stomping around in circles like they were doing some crazy barn dance, the ground shaking beneath Tom as he and Dai struggled, the Mechs crashing into each other before collapsing into huge heaps of smouldering metal, electric sparks exploding, lighting up the night sky like fireworks as Vivien collapsed in the Doctor's arms, her head flopping back on her long neck like a broken flower.

Nobody had spoken, nobody had moved, and then Weaver and the others had rushed the Doctor, rifles raised, but Tom had somehow reached him first, punching the Doctor in the face, knocking him to the ground. He'd then clumsily gathered Vivien up in his arms, before rushing back into the school, screaming for help, feeling like the past was repeating itself, slowing him down, making him make the same mistake twice.

"What the _hell _did you just do out there?" Weaver snapped at the Doctor, shock still coursing through his veins.

"I just saved the scrawny neck of the 2nd Massachusetts," the Doctor said dangerously, "that's what the hell I just did."

"But _how?_"

The Doctor looked around him, taking in the roomful of hostile faces, tiredly noting their rifles weren't raised for once. "I reversed the signal," he said reluctantly, "using Vivien as the transmitter, myself boosting" -

\- "What signal?" Weaver demanded.

"The Skitters communicate by radio waves," the Doctor explained impatiently, "which are inaudible to humans. However, Vivien can hear it, but at the same time she's hearing it wrong - because she's a hybrid, the human element is acting as a sort of barrier, interfering with what the alien element is picking up. She's... she's like an antennae, but at the same time she's rejecting what she's receiving."

"She can hear the Skitters?" Weaver said incredulously.

"Yes," the Doctor said coldly, tentatively tweaking his nose to the left. Tom had broken it in spectacular style, and even though the Doctor had fixed it, he wasn't sure if his nose was on quite straight. "I can hear them as well," he continued irascibly, "but I don't understand a word they're saying, so any ideas you have of me eavesdropping on the enemy, you can forget it."

Weaver just stared at him, his face changing colours like a traffic light. "How did you take out those Mechs?" he repeated, advancing on the Doctor. "What kind of parlour trick did you pull there?"

"I reversed what was working in reverse," the Doctor said slowly, as though addressing an imbecile, "as in I accessed Vivien's mind and transmitted what she was picking up back to its source, the source being what you call the Mechs."

"No, the Skitters control the Mechs," Weaver said just as slowly, "so the source goes right back to them. In taking down the Mechs, you must have also taken down the Skitters that were operating them." He turned to Antony and the others. "I want you lot to scout the surrounding area," he ordered, "see if there's any dead Skitter scum lying around, just so we know for sure."

Anthony nodded, leading the others out the door.

"This signal you're talking about," Weaver then said, turning to the Doctor again, "could it be traced back to the school?"

"No," the Doctor said abruptly, "and don't ask me to explain how."

"Is it the bio-damper?" Tom suddenly snarled. "You said it would hide her in plain sight. Would it conceal a signal as well?"

"The bio-damper conceals the bio-signature of an individual," the Doctor said tersely, "so since Vivien was transmitting the signal, it would consequently be concealed as well."

Weaver hesitated, sidetracked by the mention of a bio-whatsit, before shaking his head to himself, forcing his thoughts to focus. "So could you do that again?" he said slowly, his eyes beginning to glint with an odd gleam. "Could you take down a whole company of Mechs and Skitters by reversing the signal through Vivien?"

"Bloody hell, no!" the Doctor exploded, pre-empting Tom's rage. "If I tried that trick again, it would kill her! Look at the state she's in now - if I pulled another stunt like that, her whole brain would frazzle, exploding in her skull!"

"Why didn't it happen there?"

"Because I was taking most of the strain," the Doctor snapped, massaging his side, "but what got past me put her in a coma. Next time, she would die."

"Will she wake up?" Tom said, his hands shaking.

"I - I don't know," the Doctor said, his voice cracking.

"Then why did you do it!?" Tom exploded this time, spit flying from his mouth, flecking the air.

"Because she would have died!" the Doctor yelled back. "You would have all died!"

Silence.

"So where do we go from here, then?" Tom then said, his face becoming feral. "Is it hands across the universe now?"

"No, it isn't," the Doctor said coldly.

"So what is it, then?"

"What it is, is that you'll just pop me back in that cage," the Doctor said tartly, "only wheeling me out when you want me to do your dirty work for you."

Tom scoffed scornfully.

"What about Vivien?" the Doctor asked abruptly, turning to Weaver.

"If she comes round, she'll be keeping you company," Weaver said dourly.

"No, she won't be," Tom said from between gritted teeth. "As of now, she's no longer a prisoner; as of now she is no longer classed under the category of threat; as of now she is no longer under suspicion of working for the Skitters!"

"And who gives you the authority to sanction such a decision!?" Weaver challenged, clenching his fists by his sides.

"You trusted her with my son, Dan," Tom spat, "despite everything, _you trusted her with my son_."

"Does that mean _you_ trust her around your sons?" Weaver said, turning it back onto Tom.

"Don't put this on me" -

\- "I'm sick of this," Weaver said, "we should just lock her up and be bloody done with it!"

"She nearly died saving the 2nd Mass," Tom snapped, "and she still could, yet you're going to stick her back in that cage!?"

"Have it your way, Mason," Weaver growled, "since having your way with her seems to be all you're worried about" -

Tom lunged forwards, his fist nearly colliding with Weaver's face, the Doctor diving in-between them, clutching his side as he moved, pain shooting through him. "I think one broken nose is enough for this evening," the Doctor said shakily, separating them

"Amen to that," Weaver growled, glaring at Tom.


	16. Break & Fold

**Break &amp; Fold **

"Don't look at me like that," the Doctor snapped, "I'm not some poncey hero from a fairytale ready to rescue you from your tower on high."

Lourdes hastily averted her face, double-checking Vivien's drip with too much enthusiasm instead, nearly knocking it over as she did. Anne came up the side of her, avoiding looking at Tom who was keeping vigil by Vivien's bed-side, not wanting to see what she'd lost being taken by another.

Ever since Vivien's arrival, things between Tom and Anne had become strained. In hindsight, Anne realised she should have took her chance when she'd had it and staked her claim, forcing Tom to face his feelings for her and hers for him, but she'd hesitated and so she'd lost him to a total stranger. But she still had her pride, even as Tom threw his away, losing his head over a girl half his age.

"So what caused Vivien to seize like that?" Anne asked the Doctor with some difficulty, folding her arms across her chest as she did so.

"You tell me - you're the doctor," the Doctor retorted, tentatively testing the tip of his nose again.

"I thought you were the Doctor?" Anne said coldly.

Silence.

"The radio waves upset the balance of the electrical impulses in her brain," the Doctor then said, sighing heavily, running his hand down the side of his face, "resulting in a sort of generalized tonic-clonic seizure."

"A grand-mal," Lourdes interjected, earning a raised eyebrow from the Doctor.

"But this isn't postictal," Anne said, gesturing to the unconscious Vivien. "This is something else altogether."

"Obviously," the Doctor said, pinching the bridge of his hooked nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Anne snapped.

"Vivien's hybrid status means she's more durable than the average ape," the Doctor snapped back, "she's not as breakable as the rest of you, but only just. Her main advantage is endurance; she can push through the pain barrier" -

\- "That gunshot wound was just a through and through," Anne interrupted him, "but she was up and walking about right after it as if nothing happened" -

\- "She still feels the pain but she can just... manage it better," the Doctor repeated impatiently, "but she can only heal at the average rate of a human. She was imbibing an abnormal amount of Tylenol, which was a warning sign her body was reaching its breaking point – taking that bullet nearly tipped her over the edge."

"But what you did sent her right over it," Lourdes said quietly.

"Don't you think I know that!?" the Doctor snapped. "If it had been something else, anything else, she wouldn't be in this state – she would wake up" -

\- "Wake up how?" Anne said, stepping forwards. "What's the difference?"

"Under too much strain, as long as it's not fatal or potentially so, her body will shut down and recalibrate, a sort of long drawn out healing process," the Doctor explained even more impatiently, "it's the alien in her kicking in" -

\- "But she's still alert during this process?" Anne said, trying to wrap her head around all this.

"Yes," the Doctor said, exhaling sharply, "and don't ask me to explain how or why. The danger here is, her whole system has completely shut down, the main threat being neurological. What I did – even as I bore the brunt of it – it – it did something to her - there's a high risk she's... she's brain-damaged" - He half turned away from them, burying his face in the crook of his arm, not wanting them to witness his agony. He had taken a chance out there, and his gamble hadn't paid off, leading him by the hand into his own personal hell. He had hurt all he had left, the TARDIS lost to him, now Vivien, history repeating itself, losing what he loved.

Almost unaware of the Doctor's words, Tom studied Vivien, his dark gaze dwelling on her bloodless face, taking in the way her long black lashes cast crescents on her cheeks, the silver chain circling her swanlike neck, almost hidden from sight. For a moment it was Rebecca lying there, then reality destroyed the illusion, making him wonder if this was what was fuelling his madness, seeking redemption in the arms of the enemy. He was trying to replace Rebecca with Vivien, trying to save her when he hadn't been able to save his own wife, attempting to atone for his sins by rewriting the past with the present.

"Hey, big boy," Maggie called to Tom as she strolled through the swing doors, Tector trailing at her heels, "look lively, I'm here to give you a heads-up."

"About what?" Tom said dully.

"The scouts found a whole load of fried Skitters out back, boss," Tector said before Maggie could say anything.

"Damn it!" the Doctor exploded, booting the science bench, startling Anne and Lourdes.

"I'm meant to be the messenger, country boy," Maggie said to Tector, glaring at him, completely ignoring the Doctor's outburst.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Tector asked Tom, gesturing to Vivien, completely ignoring Maggie in turn.

"You're dismissed," Tom said coldly.

Tector just looked at him, before turning on his heel and stalking back through the swing doors.

"You don't own her," Maggie pointed out to Tom.

"You're dismissed as well," Tom snapped.

Maggie just shook her head before turning and leaving too.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Anne asked the Doctor in an undertone as Tom resumed his vigil.

"A guilty conscience," the Doctor said sarcastically, "got a cure for it?"

"Guilt over what?"

"The Skitters, stupid!"

"You bloody hypocrite," Anne hissed, "you're the one that killed them!"

"I didn't mean to!" the Doctor protested.

Anne just shook her head at him.

"The Skitters aren't what you think they are," the Doctor said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What do you mean?" Anne said suspiciously.

"What do I mean?" the Doctor said evasively.

* * *

_When Vivien opened her eyes, it was only to find herself lying in a strange bed, the sunlight streaming in through wide bay windows, their white lace curtains fluttering in the faint breeze that carried the scent of cherry blossom in its wake. All that could be heard was the sound of breathing, deep and regular, but it wasn't her own. _

_Not daring to turn around, Vivien's gaze travelled over the rest of the room, taking in the bedside cabinet piled high with books, the titles unfamiliar and unfriendly, repelling her. There was a photo frame balanced precariously on top of them, but the subject of the picture was something she couldn't see without shifting position. All Vivien could make out was two figures, one towering over the other. Some instinct told her it was a wedding photo but she wasn't sure and she didn't want to be. _

_"Wake up, sleepyhead."_

_Vivien stiffened, recognizing the voice and not wanting to. Then an arm was winding its way around her waist, lips brushing her black hair, and she snapped, springing to life, turning and shoving Tom away from her, the palms of her hands slamming into his broad bare chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Ignoring his shocked face, Vivien scrambled out of the bed, almost breaking her neck as her legs got tangled up in the bed sheets. _

_"For chrissake, be careful!" Tom cried, grabbing her arm. _

_"Don't touch me!" Vivien screamed, yanking herself out of his grip, staggering sideways as she did so. _

_"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Tom snapped, looking at her like she was mad. _

_"You're not Tom," Vivien hissed, remembering the hooded figure, the room that pulsated like a heart. "I - I know Tom, and you're not him, you're not him" - She turned away from him, digging her fingers into her temples, as if she was trying to claw out the lies of this life that wasn't hers. _

_"Now you're using your brain," another voice said, making Vivien's head snap up, only to see the Doctor sitting on the edge of the bed, his dark hair flopping across his broad brow, his ancient eyes appraising her. _

_"No, not you," Vivien said, backing away from him. "Anybody but you."_

_"I couldn't help you," the Doctor said, straightening his bow-tie. "Nobody could."_

_"You knew she would die," Vivien whispered, "and you knew I would lose the baby, but you just let it happen - you just walked away without a backwards glance. You didn't even try" - _

_\- "What would trying achieve?" another voice said, making her whirl around, only to see the Doctor, her own Doctor, all cockatoo hair and long limbs. "You would have hated me for failing."_

_"I don't hate _you_," Vivien said brokenly, "I hate _him_. You didn't know, but he did."_

_"That's not a logical rationale for hatred," the Doctor pointed out, tugging on an earlobe. "_He _only knew because of _me."

_"But for you it was too late," Vivien argued, "but for him it hadn't happened yet. He could have stopped it."_

_"Everything was too back-to-front, Vivien," the Doctor said sadly, "your past happening to my future."_

_"It doesn't change anything," Vivien said, shaking from head to foot now. _

_"But everything's changed," a harsh Scottish voice said, making her head snap up. "And it's still changing."_

_Vivien took a step back, staring at the stranger in bewilderment, knowing and not knowing him all at once. _

_"You don't know what it's like to carry that guilt through three regenerations," the stranger said, his pale eyes boring into hers, "having to look upon your face for all those lives, bearing that burden" - _

_\- "Wishing I could have helped you," her Doctor said, stepping forwards. _

_"Knowing that I couldn't have," the other Doctor said from the bed. _

_"When I can't," the stranger said quietly. _

_Vivien looked at them all, her lower lip wobbling, and then she buried her face in her hands, bursting into tears, unable to take it anymore, the past colliding with a present that didn't even exist. _

_"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Tom asked quietly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, making her tense up. _

_"This isn't real," Vivien said from between gritted teeth. "None of it."_

_"Of course it's real," Tom laughed, his mocking tone making her raise her head. "What else could it be? A dream?"_

_Vivien backed away from him, tears trailing dry down her cheeks, fear threatening to overwhelm what was left of her reason. _

_"You need to calm down, Vi," Tom chided gently as he stepped forwards, "all that stress, it's bad for you and the baby."_

_Vivien just stared at him, her hand almost automatically cradling the curve of her bump, disbelief nearly destroying her. _

_"This is what you wanted," Tom said quietly, smoothing back a black wave of her hair, "isn't it?" _

_I'm hoping you could save me now but you break and fold__  
__You've got a fire inside but your heart's so cold…_

* * *

The Doctor straightened up, face taut with tension, his hand clutching his side again. He'd spent the last half hour trying to bring Vivien back from the brink, to try and reach her through her thoughts, but the barriers had been high too breach. For a moment, he'd thought he'd managed to break through, but it was only to find himself banished to her beyond again, returning to reality with the uneasy knowledge she was elsewhere, despite her body being here.

"She said you saved her," Tom said suddenly, making Matt stir in his arms, his head shifting against his father's shoulder, "that she was going to destroy herself, but that you saved her."

The Doctor studied Tom for a long moment, trying to assess the threat he possibly presented, remembering what Pope had inadvertently warned him about, that there was something starting to begin between Tom and Vivien. At first glance, Tom didn't seem the type to turn Vivien's head, but appearances were deceptive, and Vivien had an alarming habit of being unpredictable. It would just be like her to become entangled with the enemy, tempting trouble by dancing with the devil, edging closer and closer to the flames, not caring if she got burned. But the Doctor could handle hit and runs; it was the danger she would find someone who could make her stay that frightened him.

"Don't try any Time Lord trickery on me," Tom said tiredly, leaning back in his seat, "just answer the goddamn question."

The Doctor glanced at Vivien, before exhaling sharply, setting aside his fears for the time being. If Vivien wanted to toy with Tom, so be it. As long as it didn't get her killed, she could dally all she wanted, since it was him she would leave with, never looking back. "She tried to commit suicide to save the world," the Doctor said bluntly, making Tom do a double-take, "but I didn't feel the situation merited such dramatic measures."

Tom's jaw tightened, further questions hovering on his lips, but they were questions that could wait. "What exactly is she?" he asked in an undertone. "Who did this to her?"

"Why do you want to know?" the Doctor spat. "No, wait, I forgot, you're the second-in-command of an alien resistance movement," he said sarcastically, circling Tom, "the intergalactic equivalent of the Gestapo"-

\- "We're currently earthbound actually," Tom said tersely, "hardly the stuff space dreams are made of."

"I don't care if you're Darth Vader in disguise," the Doctor hissed, "if you think I'm going to endanger her life any further than it is already, you've got another thing coming."

"I don't want intel," Tom said, sighing heavily, "it's just... I'm curious, that's all, okay? You and her practically fall from the sky, sending the 2nd Mass into uproar. It would be nice to see the whole picture, instead of squabbling over scraps."

"So you do want intel?" the Doctor said, rolling his eyes. "Facts and figures?"

"I'm a history professor," Tom snapped, "I live and breathe facts and figures. That's why I want to know, in order to understand, not to find a reason to put you both in front of a firing squad – I have enough grounds for that already."

"But we've already faced the firing squad," the Doctor said wryly, massaging his side.

Tom exhaled sharply this time, accepting the insult, knowing he deserved that dig. "Please," he then said quietly, something in his voice making the Doctor glance sharply at him, "it would help you both if you helped me to understand. People are scared, myself included, and the fact there might be other forces out there as well as the one we're fighting" -

\- "Only concern yourself with what you're up against," the Doctor snapped, "don't get your frilly knickers in a twist over other alien species. They're neither here or there."

"You're here."

"And you should be on bended knee thanking whatever gods you favour that I am," the Doctor retorted, "but never mind that. You want to know what she is, and who did this to her? She's half Xanthe, half human, the creation of a warrior race that had a bad habit of picking fights with other planets. My lot sat back and let them get on it, loathe to interfere, and by the time they bothered their backsides, a little thing called the Time War happened. When the Xanthe's path crossed with Vivien's, there wasn't very many of them left – she probably told you this bit, showed you their little calling card – and then they tried to take over this world, wherein their Trojan Horse tried to total herself, a plan I put the scuppers on. So there you have Vivien's chequered history in a nut-shell."

"Well, thank you for that succinct summary," Tom said tersely, "it was most... enlightening."


	17. The Flame Is Gone

**Author's Note:** _We'll Stumble Through Heaven_, a Twelfth Doctor &amp; Clara story featuring Tom and Vivien can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile. It can be read as a standalone, its plot bearing no relevance to _Falling Slowly_ and its potential sequels.

* * *

**The Flame Is Gone**

Tom set the book of fairy-tales down, his gaze tracing Vivien's irregular features, the sight of her so still twisting his heart. She'd been unconscious for a week and a half now, Tom only leaving her side to search for his son or to fulfil his responsibilities to the 2nd Mass. He slept on the floor beside her camp bed, Matt sleeping beside him, their sleeping bags only an inch apart, the son keeping vigil with the father.

Hal kept an uncharacteristic distance, only dropping into the clinic with Karen to check on Tom and Matt, struggling to understand why they were becoming so involved with Vivien, trying to reason with Tom over his actions. He had heard the rumours that his father had taken an unhealthy interest in Vivien, but he dismissed it as gossip, mistakenly believing Tom to be above such emotions. But all the same, he maintained his distance, something about Vivien unnerving him, her presence heralding the hint of change in the air.

But surprisingly it had been Hal who'd suggested that Tom should talk to Vivien, that the sound of his voice might drag her out of the darkness. So Tom told Vivien of his day, what he'd done, what he'd had for lunch, trivial trivia interspersed with random references to historical facts and figures, endless anecdotes about a past he had no part of, and when he'd exhausted even that, he turned to books instead, using the words as weapons in his assault on Vivien's personal Alcatraz, trying to bring down the walls that kept her within. But whether she heard him was a whole other story, a story that other stories couldn't seem to end.

He and the rest of the 2nd Mass had been on high alert in the aftermath of the attack, letting the dust settle before lowering their guard, satisfied there wouldn't be a repeat of that night. The furore around the Doctor and Vivien had led to a number of the civilians secretly fleeing the school, only making it out so far before running into a Mech patrol. The survivors had staggered back to the school, leading the Mechs right back to the 2nd Mass, and it had only been through the Doctor's actions that a massacre had been avoided.

After his first failed attempt to gain entry into her unconsciousness, the Doctor had tried several times since, practice finally making perfect, allowing him to walk amongst Vivien's memories, even as they divided him from her. The Doctor paid particular attention to her time with the Skitters, recognizing Red-Eye from the alleyway on the night of the bombing of South Boston, leading him to wonder why the creature had appeared to both of them.

But he drew a blank, like he drew a blank over why Vivien was being hunted, why they would want her. He didn't recognize the technology of what the 2nd Mass called Mechs, or the creatures they called Skitters. But races adapted and evolved, always ever changing, so the Doctor reasoned he would deduce who they were eventually, and that he wouldn't be surprised if their paths had crossed before. Time could pass, but it couldn't erode the ties of enmity that bound him and his foes together.

He'd seen from Vivien's memories that the TARDIS had been taken, that she hadn't told the 2nd Mass of its existence, but he bottled up his grief over the loss, focusing on Vivien, trying and failing to bring her back from the brink. What worried him though were the flashes of Tom he stumbled across, Vivien's memories dwelling on the directness of his dark gaze, lingering on his broad shoulders and large capable hands, the Doctor sensing she unconsciously drew a strange sort of comfort from what he considered Tom's dully stolid presence.

To the Doctor's surprise, Weaver had oddly allowed him the tentative run of the makeshift medical clinic, tending to Vivien and whoever else was passed his way whenever an extra pair of hands was needed, which was often, Anne and Lourdes already overworked as it was. The patients he treated openly recoiled from him, watching him work with a fascinated horror, but they brooked no protest when he diagnosed ailments and treated injuries, accepting him against their will. After saving the 2nd Mass, the Doctor now existed somewhere between saint and sinner, hero and pariah, but whilst Anne was aloof, Lourdes was not, and as for Tom, it was open enmity between human and Time Lord.

"What are you reading her now?" the Doctor asked abruptly, startling Tom.

Tom stared at the Doctor for a moment, deliberating whether to answer him or not. He'd taken to blocking the Doctor out, ignoring him on occasion, but Vivien was the catalyst that unwillingly drew them together, forcing Tom to acknowledge the alien against his will. "Sleeping Beauty," he said reluctantly, holding up a battered book of children's' fairy-tales.

"Rather ironic, isn't it?" the Doctor observed dryly, rubbing his side. Apart from a few twinges here and there, he was now almost healed.

"Matt picked it out," Tom said, shrugging his good shoulder.

"You son's very worried about her," the Doctor said slowly, eyes narrowing as he stared at a point past Tom's head.

"As am I," Tom said, slightly unnerved. Matt was here with him through sheer necessity, but he wasn't blind to the fact Matt had taken a weird shine to Vivien, always asking Tom when would she wake up, the fact she could whip his ass at Monopoly having somehow won his immature respect.

"She isn't his mother," the Doctor snapped, no longer vague.

"I never said she was," Tom said, taken aback.

"But your son's forming an attachment to her," the Doctor said, "and it's up to you to nip it in the bud."

"He's not doing any such thing," Tom said tersely, "he's scared of her more than anything else."

"He's a little boy who has lost his mother," the Doctor said from between gritted teeth, "and now he's trying to replace what he's lost. Father like son in fact."

Before Tom could do anything but flush hotly, Maggie came stalking through the doors, rifle slung across her back. "My Little Pony wants you," she said abruptly, her latest nick-name for Weaver making the Doctor's lips twitch, "so get to it, Tom-Tom."

Tom hastily pulled on his jacket, grateful for the opportunity to escape, avoiding Maggie's mocking gaze. They had fallen into a strange routine, Maggie sitting with Vivien when he was gone, reading to her, as well as giving her sponge-baths and brushing her black hair, performing each task with brisk efficiency. She had shown up that first night, offering to assist with Vivien's care, and when Tom had asked her why, she'd just shrugged her shoulders, saying she owed Vivien for attacking Pope, doing what she'd never had the balls to do.

"Yes, get to it, Tom-Tom," the Doctor said dryly, adjusting Vivien's drip, "we don't want to keep My Little Pony waiting."

* * *

_Vivien sat stiffly in her favourite wing-chair, Midnight, their black pet cat rubbing its head against her ankle, her hand resting on her bump. She felt like she was caught between two worlds, trying to hold onto what felt like a dream in the face of reality. Like a litany, she went over and over what she could remember of her other life, her thoughts dwelling on Tom the most, recalling his large capable hands with the nails bitten down to the quick and the lines etched around his dark eyes, as well as his quiet strength and awkward demeanour. _

_The other Tom in front of her was a world away from the Tom she was trying to hold onto, his beard neatly trimmed, his hair cut in a more restrained version of the Doctor's wild cockatoo style, his clothes bordering on bohemian, a loose long sleeved white top and dark grey waistcoat teamed with black skinny jeans. He gave the impression of trying to recapture his youth, a youth long gone, and something about this made Vivien's stomach turn, sitting at odds with how she remembered the other Tom who accepted his ageing with a casual shrug of the shoulder. _

_"You okay?" he asked her, sounding annoyed. _

_Vivien nodded, her jaw tightening, belying her lie. Somewhere a front door banged, and then there was the sound of small running feet, a sound Vivien thought she would never hear again. Then a little girl with long waving black hair danced into the room, twirling around Tom, who lifted the child up, before swinging her round, making her shriek with lilting laughter. Lourdes, dressed in an utilitarian black uniform, then came into the room, carrying another little girl, younger though, about three years old, wearing a fancy red coat. She put the little girl down, hovering anxiously in the background as the child toddled over to the cat, her tiny face determined despite itself, her small hand reaching out for its tail, the cat artfully evading her. _

_Almost detachedly, Vivien observed the domestic scene in front of her, feeling herself to have no part in it. This wasn't her life and these weren't her children, Tom more a stranger here than he was elsewhere. But as the baby kicked within her, Vivien began to doubt herself, her gaze becoming drawn to the littlest girl against her will, a terrible longing to have back what she'd lost suddenly almost overwhelming her. _

_"Hello," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. _

_"Cat," the little girl said simply, pointing to it._

_"Yes, that's a cat," Vivien said, amused against her will. _

_Lourdes knelt down between the little girl and the cat, tactfully separating them. "Why don't you give your mother the flowers you picked?" she gently suggested, smoothing down the little girl's coat collar, the gesture making Vivien's hackles involuntarily rise. _

_"I's picked you pretty flowers, Mama," the little girl said, like it was her own idea, shrugging off Lourdes's maternal hand as she toddled towards Vivien instead, pulling out a bundle of crushed flowers from her pocket. _

_Vivien swallowed hard, finding it hard to look at her, yet unable to look away, taking in the little girl's features, seeing herself in her, both sharing the same ivory skin, wilful chin and big blue eyes, but the little girl was as delicately pretty as a doll, her perfect features a world away from Vivien's plain ones. The little girl surveyed her from beneath a tangle of ebony curls, before suddenly smiling, her baby teeth as perfect as pearls. Before Vivien could stop herself, she picked her daughter up, almost crushing her to her chest, the little girl laughing, Vivien fiercely kissing her forehead. _

_"She isn't yours and she isn't real," the Doctor said, leaning against the wall. "You're losing the fight, Vivien."_

_"What fight?" Vivien spat. _

_"This fight," the Doctor said simply, straightening his bowtie. "Why else do you think I'm here? Your brain conjured me up for a reason. It's using your hatred of me to make you fight when you otherwise wouldn't."_

_"And why wouldn't I fight?"_

_"Because this is what you want," the Doctor said, stepping forwards, "this is what you're running from."_

_Vivien shook her head, unable to unravel his riddles. _

_"You have to fight this, Vivien," the Doctor urged, his voice suddenly urgent. "You have to fight yourself."_

_"What are you saying, Doctor?" Vivien hissed, holding her daughter close to her. "That my life is a trick, a trap?"_

_"It's a test," the Doctor said, "a test you're failing as we speak."_

* * *

"She told Weaver she could bend light," Tom said suddenly, making the Doctor whirl around, instantly on the alert.

"Was this before or after the rack?" the Doctor said darkly, his mouth mocking, belying his true frame of mind.

"Don't talk horse-shit," Tom said, exasperated. "This isn't the Middle Ages."

"It certainly smells like it," the Doctor said with a pointed glance at Tom's grubby checked shirt, both of them knowing it hadn't seen a washing machine for a long time.

"You're none too fresh yourself," Tom snapped back, knowing all too well he was now more hobo than history professor, a strong contrast to how he used to be, cutting a conservative figure at Boston University with his blazers and smart slacks.

"Vivien likes a little bit of stubble," the Doctor said, allowing an intimate edge to creep into his voice, enjoying the sight of Tom tensing up, bitten by the fangs of sudden bitter jealousy.

"Really?" Tom said carelessly, not deceiving the Doctor one jot.

"She doesn't like full blown beards," the Doctor said lightly, casting Tom yet another pointed glance, focusing on his facial hair with peculiar intensity, "in fact she has quite the phobia about them."

"I'm talking about Vivien's ability to bend light here, not my beard," Tom tried and failed to say calmly.

"Who said we were talking about your beard, Mephistopheles?" the Doctor scoffed. "Vivien would no sooner look at you than she would Weaver" -

\- "Why can't you just answer the goddamn question!?" Tom snapped, the Doctor's insult hitting a raw nerve, setting off the tripwires of guilt within him. He knew he had no right to look at Vivien, the extreme polarity of their positions only increasing his unease, her vulnerable state as his prisoner playing on his conscience. He would never exploit his power, but his conflicting feelings were setting him on edge, furthered by his grief over his wife, recognizing the danger he was dallying with, using Vivien as a replacement for Rebecca, projecting his injured emotions onto her instead.

"They're just parlour tricks," the Doctor snapped back, "I don't know what she's truly capable of – the truth is locked away in her DNA. But all you need to know is that she's damaged goods; bending light is about as good as it gets."

"But she said she was the strongest, that's why she survived the process" -

\- "But that doesn't mean she's a perfect specimen," the Doctor said, brow furrowing, "she's flawed."

"She's Xanthe," Tom said quietly, studying Vivien's pale face, only seeing who she was and not what she'd become.

"Technically, Xanthe is just a crude translation," the Doctor said loftily, his foot on his native heath, explaining the unknown to the local apes, "you wouldn't be able to pronounce it in its original form..."

As he prattled on, Tom just sat there, still studying Vivien, his heart at war with himself again. He barely knew her, but in some strange way, she had become important to him, embodying an existence where he could dare to be happy again. For all his shyness, he was a red-blooded man, and Vivien with her Monroe hips and indigo eyes had more than reluctantly caught his attention, but it went beyond that.

Vivien was like a shock to the system, dragging him out of the darkness, waking him up to the world again. He'd had no time to defend himself, no space to retreat, only knowing surrender. Yet that had been then, and this was now, Tom fighting himself when he couldn't fight her. If she would wake up, he would walk away, even as there was nothing to walk away from. Whatever he was beginning to feel, was entirely one-sided, and he could crush that; he would purge himself of the insanity beginning to possess him.

_And sometimes I try to go on__  
__I know it's wrong__  
__'Cause when I see your eyes__  
__I can see the flame is gone, gone, gone…__  
_


	18. Orpheus & Eurydice

**Orpheus &amp; Eurydice**

Tom ran his hand over his face, taking one last look at Vivien, before getting to his feet, nearly tripping over them, earning himself a scornful glance from the Doctor. It was going on three weeks now, Vivien showing no sign of waking up, the strain turning Tom haggard, spending the long nights listening to Vivien breathe, Matt huddled against his side. He sleepwalked his way through his duties to the 2nd Mass, only alert when he was still carrying out the sporadic searches for Ben, knowing he was failing his son by not finding him.

Hal had stopped trying to reason with Tom, only ensuring he ate and took regular rest, the scales finally falling from his eyes, seeing that Vivien was the reason why his father was falling apart in front of him. He didn't know that Tom had made a deal with himself to walk away if Vivien would only wake up, only knowing that Tom was betraying the memory of their mother with another woman, one who wasn't even human.

Maggie strode through the swing doors, rifle slung across her back, her face deliberately blank as she approached Tom, hiding her hatred under a mask. She knew Tom was nothing like Pope, that he was a good man, but she disliked the way he was having her watched; how he'd unconsciously assumed ownership over Vivien like she was his property.

"Time to clock out, big boy," she said abruptly, making him glance at her, brow furrowing.

"You really don't like me, do you?" Tom said suddenly, eyes no longer haunted, but alert, watching Maggie like she was a snake about to strike.

"I don't like what you're doing," Maggie said quietly, glancing at Vivien's pale face, the sight making her fists clench, "and I don't like you full stop."

"I'm not exactly his biggest fan either," the Doctor interjected, appearing like a Jack-In-The-Box from behind them both, "but let's keep things friendly, eh?"

Maggie just exhaled sharply, turning away from Tom, who turned away from her in turn. The Doctor picked up a plastic flower, one of Tector's many floral offerings, twirling it between his fingers, making Tom tense up.

"You're not the only one Vivien has on the go," the Doctor said blithely to Tom, "Vivien's not Vivien unless she has half a dozen idiots dangling from her string."

"Thought we were going to keep things friendly, Snake Hips," Maggie reminded him, setting her rifle against the wall, "or is torturing Tom an occupation reserved only for you?"

The Doctor just raised an ironic eyebrow, making Maggie shake back her blonde hair, a smile reluctantly playing across her lips. A strange camaraderie had sprung up between human and alien, something about Maggie reminding the Doctor of Rose, resurrecting a past he'd thought lost, Maggie stepping into the space left vacant by Vivien.

"Aren't you meant to be trying to break into her mind?" Tom snapped, as though he was ordering the Doctor to commit a bank robbery. The Doctor had unfortunately become part of the landscape of Tom's life. Telepathy and aliens with two hearts where nothing to him now. If Abraham Lincoln popped out of a desk drawer and sang _Yankee-Doodle-Dandee_ to Tom, he wouldn't bat an eyelid.

"I was just about to," the Doctor said testily, "so step aside."

* * *

_Vivien waddled over to the sideboard, feeling like a fish out of water. She was no good at playing the discreet hostess, being too raw for the double-edged repartee that lent an adulterous undercurrent to the dinner parties Tom threw for his friends. Affairs began and ended under the Mason roof, Tom peddling his own peccadilloes, Vivien having been one of them, breaking up Tom's marriage and costing him his career, ruining any chance he ever had of becoming the dean of Boston University. And now here they were, living a lie, Vivien realising too late that it wasn't love that had led her here, but lust, damning her to a domestic prison, the bars of her own forging. _

_They'd met when she'd wandered into the wrong lecture, ruining the punch-line to Tom's well-worn joke about Abraham Lincoln and vampires, marking the beginning of their mutual ruin. For Tom, having affairs with students, foreign exchange or otherwise, was nothing new, but with Vivien, it had been different. She had a spark that set her apart from his other conquests. For Vivien, it had felt like being consumed by flame, only living when she heard the tell-tale rumble of his beat up Cadillac, Tom waiting for her in the pouring rain, their nights spent in seedy motels, the days dividing them. _

_She watched as Tom handed Anne a glass of wine, not missing the way their gazes met and held, Tom's fingers brushing against Anne's, the gesture almost unconsciously intimate. Vivien turned away, feigning interest in the empty crystal decanters littering the sideboard. Tom had pulled the same tricks on her, deceiving her, making her deceive herself in turn. She had been a novelty, but no more. Now she was a burden to Tom, a constant reminder of what he had been robbed of, academic glory and the exalted status it afforded, forcing Tom to teach history at a third rate community college instead, trying to provide for a family he loved almost against his will, a family he had never wanted in the first place. _

_With one hand, Vivien cradled her bump, wiping away her bitter tears with the other. Their first child had been born to save their marriage, their third child about to destroy what was left of it, and Vivien could do nothing to stop it, not being sure if she even wanted to. She had already destroyed Tom's world, so it made a twisted sense to ruin whatever remnants remained of it. _

_She glanced over at Anne's husband, tiredly wondering if he was turning a blind eye to his wife's wandering one, or if he was about to break Tom's jaw, only to see a blur where his face should be, the sight startling her. Vivien blinked, but nothing changed, his features a sickening swirl. Panicking, she glanced around the dining room, only to see the same pattern repeated over and over again, vortexes where faces should be. Then, as if from far away, she heard her name being called, making her head snap up, her gaze becoming drawn almost against her will to the blue doors of the dining room, the sight setting off a trip-wire in her memory - _

_"Vivien!" Tom hissed, his face almost ravaged with rage. "What the hell are you doing!?"_

_"I'm not doing bloody anything!" _

_"You better not be," Tom snapped, before stalking off, returning to Anne's side, the pair of them looking at Vivien as though she was insane. _

_Vivien turned her back on them again, her fingers curling into fists, her head spinning. She blindly made her way over to the window, staring up at the sky outside, seeking sanctuary in its dark depths. But there was none to be found, the moon lost from her, reminding her of a story she sometimes told her daughters, that when all was lost, to let the moon be their guide, a fairytale to help them find their way home, a home she no longer had. _

_Oh, when the moon was shining bright before morning_  
_I made a deal with the stars to keep holding_  
_Shining bright to come and bring me back home…_

* * *

The Doctor stood there, caught between dimensions and dreams, existing on all levels at once. In one world, he was in a science classroom, in another, he was on a spaceship, and inbetween that, he was in a house that wasn't a home, the rooms filled with blurred faces and blue doors. He saw the TARDIS, standing sentinel, cloaked figures circling it. Vivien was there and she wasn't there, her telepathic link to the time machine still connecting them together, pulling her to this place where the walls pulsated like a human heart, flickering beats of crimson, amber and gold.

Yet there was something else here, in the shadows, a terrible power he half recognized and recoiled from all at once. It appeared to be waiting, watching, but what for – _who _for? The Doctor took a step back, making reality ripple, and then the world faded from him, becoming replaced by four walls and a roof.

He glanced around him, only to see Vivien but not Vivien, the Doctor yelling her name, trying to reach her through the faceless crowd, the sound making her head snap up. But he couldn't move, remaining rooted to the spot, Vivien's gaze then becoming drawn to the blue doors of the dining room, her brow furrowing, trying to remember, Tom who wasn't Tom making his way towards her.

The Doctor watched them argue, realising a whole world had been created out of Vivien's most primitive desires, an unknown architect violating her mind and plundering her emotions, playing on her hopes for a family and a future, using desire as the thread to weave it all together. But the design was flawed, Tom a complete stranger, having been rewritten as a self-assured womanizer when in reality he was a bumbling, stumbling fool who blushed every time Vivien so much as glanced at him.

Darkly amused against his will at the contrast between the two Toms, particularly on the point of Tom's hairstyle, recognizing it as paying tribute to his own amazing gravity defying hair, the Doctor allowed himself a mocking grin before focusing on the matter at hand. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, feeling for Vivien's thoughts, trying to tether himself to her, guiding her ghost back, like Orpheus and Eurydice. Suddenly the air seemed to shift around him, making his eyes fly open, almost falling over as reality rewrote itself, suddenly sending him sprawling onto sand.

"What the" - he began, only to fall silent as he felt the presence of that terrible power again, the sensation turning his throat dry, reminding him of why he was running. _I don't want to go. _And he didn't want to be here either, remembering standing on another seashore, losing Rose to himself.

The waves crashed on the shore, but all he could hear was silence, and then a little girl suddenly ran past him, too fast for him to see nothing more than a flash of black hair. Then there was a voice saying his name, the name nobody knew, making him slowly turn around, only to see a young woman emerging from the sea, her long white blonde hair bizarrely dry, her red kirtle just as conspicuously untouched by the elements.

"You cannot interfere," the young woman said, suddenly standing in front of him, "you must not."

"Why?" the Doctor challenged, trying to stand his ground, but inside he was shaking, suddenly that frightened little boy in the barn again.

"You have no place here," the young woman said, tilting her head to the side, her bright blue eyes oddly dilated.

The Doctor glanced down at her delicate pale hands, hands that could tear the universe apart if they so chose to. "What, so I've to leave then?" he said, circling her, only to find her circling him.

"I have been looking for you for a long time," she said quietly, suddenly standing on the shoreline, back turned to him.

"But why?" the Doctor pressed, following her, only to find her gone.

"You must leave," she repeated from behind him, making him whirl around, starting to tire of her talk.

"And if I don't?" the Doctor snapped. "What happens if I don't want to go?"

The young woman smiled crookedly, making the Doctor's hearts freeze in his chest, remembering another broken smile. "This," she said, before miming knocking on a door, one, two, three, four times.

The Doctor closed his eyes, but he could still see her, his death reflected in her own eyes. And then she was in his mind, walking through his memories, tearing them apart with those white hands of hers, driving him to his knees, his lives falling through her fingers, forcing him to surrender, knowing no will but hers -

\- "Doctor!" Tom yelled, shaking him back into semblance, his worn fingers biting into the Doctor's flesh. "Wake up!"

The Doctor rolled onto his back, feeling like he'd just fallen a thousand feet, that he was still falling. He blearily glanced up at the spinning faces surrounding him, all blending into one -

\- "Vivien!" Tom cried, lunging forwards as she suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes flying open, a strangled gasp escaping her lips, Tom catching her in his arms before she pitched over the side of her camp bed.

"Vivien," the Doctor echoed weakly, trying and failing to get to his feet, Maggie helping him up as Lourdes and Anne rushed over to where Tom was now suddenly violently struggling with Vivien, the three of them forcing her back down on the camp bed, the sight making the Doctor spring forwards, rage ripping through him, his mind still elsewhere, addling his judgement.

"She's gonna be hunky-dory, Doc," Maggie said from between gritted teeth, restraining him from reaching her, "so just let Anne and Lourdes do their job, okay?"

The Doctor stared at her, Maggie studying his face in turn, noting the wild expression in his bloodshot eyes, his face reminding her of a corpse's.

"Take a seat, Snake Hips," she ordered, steering him over to a chair, the two of them glancing over at Vivien who had suddenly burst into tears, having thankfully stopped fighting the other three, before burying her face in Tom's shoulder, Anne and Lourdes backing away, giving her space.

"Hunky-dory," the Doctor repeated under his breath, "we're going to be hunky-dory."

"You tell 'em, Time Lord," Maggie said, humouring him, whilst beckoning Anne over, "you tell 'em."


	19. Send & Take

**Send &amp; Take**

Vivien lay propped up on various cushions and pillows, her blue eyes almost blank, Matt's excited voice barely keeping her connected to this world, her mind wandering within the confines of another. The memories of that other life had faded like smoke, leaving only a legacy of loss in its place, but she remembered the cloaked figure, the TARDIS trapped, the walls pulsing like a human heart, abandoning everything else to the ether -

"And he punched him, like pow-pow!" Matt crowed, miming out the moment Hal had finally given Wilkins what he'd long been due, following his father's example.

"Good," Vivien said, forcing herself to focus, "bast - the swine deserved it, hurting a little boy like you" -

\- "I'm not a little boy!"

"No, you're bloody Hercules," Vivien snapped, startling Matt, who instantly shrank away from her. "God, I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, sitting up with some difficulty, "I didn't mean that" -

\- "I think it's time to make tracks, Matt," Tom said, appearing out of nowhere, "Vivien needs to rest."

"Okay," Matt said, his voice very small, before turning and running over to Anne, seeking refuge in the familiar.

"Tom, can I talk to you?" Vivien asked, making Tom turn around to face her, his face falling into usual stern lines.

"About what?" he asked abruptly, almost angrily.

Vivien stared at him, shocked, instantly sensing the sea change in Tom. Something had shifted in the balance between them, Tom no longer tolerant, humouring her. Even as they'd fought tooth and nail, the rocky camaraderie that had sprung up between them had taken the edge off their arguments. "Your great leader was in here earlier, spouting a load of guff about me no longer being classed in the light of an enemy," Vivien said just as abruptly, recovering herself, "but if I'm no longer a prisoner of the 2nd Mass, why won't he let me leave this dump?"

Weaver had sat on the edge of her camp bed, talking at length about the events that had occurred, Vivien switching off. All she was concerned about was getting the Doctor out of here so he could do what he did best and save the world. Hiding out in some school wasn't going to achieve this end. But when she'd broached the subject of leaving with Weaver, he'd swiftly shot her down, that such a prospect was impossible and she was staying put.

"They're my orders and you'll obey them," Tom said tersely, ruining her reverie. "You're a civilian, and civilians are my specific responsibility, so consequently your welfare is of my particular concern. For whatever reason, you're of especial interest to the enemy, so therefore I think it's in everybody's best interests if you remain under the protection of the 2nd Mass, where I can keep an eye on you" -

\- "Oh, it's like _that_, is it?" Vivien drawled, indigo eyes beginning to dance with malicious amusement.

"I don't think so," Tom retorted, the tips of his ears turning red, "my interest is completely platonic and professional. I am your superior and you are my subordinate" -

\- "Are you actually _blushing_, Thomas?" Vivien said, smirking now. "At your age?"

"You will be under twenty-four observation," Tom snapped, beginning to lose his temper, "your every movement monitored. You won't even be able to blink without me knowing about it. As soon as you're fit enough, you will start earning your citizenship with the 2nd Mass, wherein you will be assigned whatever duties I decide" -

\- "I thought I wasn't your bloody prisoner anymore!" Vivien flared up, amusement fading, eyes now angry. "Yet from where I'm sitting, it sounds exactly like that still!"

"You are a civilian," Tom reiterated through gritted teeth, "and no civilian is allowed to go off base without special permission. All civilians are expected to contribute to their keep unless they can't due to special circumstances such as ill-health _etcetera_, which in they will be cared for. But your unique status means you have to be afforded extra protection for your own safety and that of the 2nd Mass's."

Vivien just stared at him, her fists clenching by her sides.

"The Doctor will however remain under house arrest," Tom said, straightening his rifle strap, "he will not leave the four walls of this room. He will be under armed guard at all times. He will continue to contribute towards his keep by helping Dr. Glass and Lourdes Delgado in the medical clinic. He understands and agrees to all these conditions" -

\- "What!?"

"He will be treated more like an honoured guest than a prisoner," Tom said, his lips twisting downwards at the thought, "but at the first breath of trouble, he will be crushed and contained. If I see the slightest sign of insubordination from you, he will be punished for it. Do you understand?"

"Do you understand he could have escaped from your shit-hole a thousand times?" Vivien said, her voice cracking. "That he still could" -

\- "The Doctor is amenable to our agreement," Tom said coldly, "but if you have an issue with it, you're in danger of broaching your position of privilege and his" -

Vivien almost choked at this, Tom exhaling sharply, fighting the insane urge to kiss her into submission, to obliterate the hate in her eyes for him.

"Colonel Porter has not been in recent contact," Tom continued with some difficulty, "but his last orders were for the 2nd Mass to go to ground. As long as we can hold our position here, we will remain in Acton, and so I expect you to comply with my not unreasonable requests to co-operate. Upon Colonel's Porter's resuming of communications, I will speak with him about your new status within the 2nd Mass, and explain the circumstances surrounding it."

"I get my head almost fried and I've to thank you for the privilege?" Vivien snapped, making Tom half turn away from her. "What happens if your precious Porter orders I've to be handed over to the aforementioned enemy? That he says I'm a threat to the safety of the 2nd Mass, and let's face facts Tom, I'm _exactly_ that" -

\- "I will kill Porter before that happens," Tom snarled, suddenly losing control of himself, shocking Vivien, "or anyone else that stands in my way" -

\- "Maybe you should leave now, Tom," Vivien abruptly cut across him, still shocked, but even more shocked at herself for the feral thrill that shot through her at the look on his face, "I'm – I'm tired."

Tom stared at her, realising too late he'd crossed some sort of line, breaking his promise to himself to back off. He barely knew her, yet here he stood, making threats of murder if anybody dared to endanger her existence. It was insanity in its rawest form. "I apologize," he said stiffly, bowing his head, "but before I go, I need to know we're in accord."

"Oh, we're in accord," Vivien said sarcastically, but as her gaze met his, he saw for one brief moment his insanity was answered, and Tom turned and left, the madness threatening to engulf them both.

_But it's too late for his love__  
__Already caught in a trap__  
__His angel's kiss was a joke__  
__And she is not coming back…_

* * *

"Why have you sold our side out?" Vivien hissed at the Doctor, making him look at her blankly. She had waited all evening to get him on his own and out of earshot of Tom's spies, remembering what he'd said about having her every movement monitored. "Bloody answer me!" she hissed again, not knowing when she would get another window of opportunity.

"Because I think it's best we keep a low profile until I know what we're dealing with," the Doctor lied, returning to life, "so I'd prefer it if you didn't rock the boat, savvy?" Ever since his encounter with the girl in the red kirtle, the Doctor had reluctantly re-evaluated his priorities, backing down for probably the first time in his many lives. He was shocked at himself for stepping back from saving the world, but as he stared into Vivien's blue eyes, he remembered other blue eyes, how they'd watched him fall to his knees, silently securing his surrender with nothing more than a metaphorical snap of her fingers -

"But we know exactly what we're dealing with," Vivien said in disbelief, "so there's nothing to figure out. Aliens have invaded the Earth so sort it out!"

"And I will," the Doctor lied through gritted teeth, "but until then, we start as we mean to go on and that means we keep our heads down and our hands clean."

"Doctor," Vivien said, struggling to keep her patience, "someone or – or something is after me and their little scaly serfs let me go when they shouldn't have" -

\- "I'm working on that one" -

\- "Are you?"

"What I'm saying is that we'll cross that bridge when we come to it" -

\- "That bridge has been crossed already, idiot," Vivien snapped, "like miles back. I am on somebody's hit-list, not a guest-list. All I have standing between me and an alien empire is a bunch of jumped up GI Joes and some AK-47s" -

\- "And it'll all be okay, _okay?_" the Doctor said, flinging his hands up in exasperation.

\- "Whoever is hunting me down has the TARDIS," Vivien said, her voice cracking, "I'm – I'm still connected to her, I seen her, and – and _them, _on their – their ship" -

\- "I know," the Doctor said, his own voice cracking, "I was in your head, remember?"

Vivien just looked at him, suddenly shifty. "What else did you see?" she asked, trying and failing to feign nonchalance, not fooling the Doctor for one moment.

"That you have an obsession with Tom Mason's hands," the Doctor spat, "and his shoulders and his eyes and his" -

\- "For fuck's sake, shut up!" Vivien hissed frantically, flapping her hands at him. "It's – it's none of your business!"

"He's like an ant-eater in human form," the Doctor said in disgust, miming Tom's long and drooping nose. "Your taste in men is _execrable_, Vivien."

"You... you start to see past the nose," Vivien said stupidly, "and - and anyways, anything like that is completely out of the question. I'm not interested and neither is he" -

\- "Yeah, he sleeps on the floor by your bed for three weeks, waiting for you to wake up, breaking every rule in the alien invasion handbook while he's at it," the Doctor snapped, "and you sit there and say to me he's not interested!? He's more than interested, Vivien, the man's besotted with you!"

Vivien stared the Doctor in shock. "You can't say that," she said, her voice starting to tremble, "he barely knows me – I mean, he's known me longer knocked out than actually awake" -

\- "All _I_ know is that you have made this a hell of a lot more complicated than it should be," the Doctor said, pinching the bridge of his beaky nose with his thumb and forefinger, "it's fine and dandy playing the field, to have a suitor in every space port, but sooner or later you're going to hit a brick wall. And Tom Mason is your brick wall, Vivien."

"He's – he's nothing," Vivien said shakily, "you've completely got the wrong end of the stick."

"You can't play games with men like Mason," the Doctor hissed, face suddenly feral, "he's all or nothing. _You _are all or nothing to him. He might be looking at this," he gestured to Vivien's plunging neck-line, making her fold her arms defensively across her chest, "but he wants _this,_" he thumped his own chest, indicating one of his hearts.

"But we barely know each other," Vivien reiterated, her voice suddenly very small.

"These things just happen, Vivien," the Doctor said tiredly, "there's... there's no rhyme or reason. It just... is. Hell, maybe it's what brought us here" -

\- "No, she didn't," Vivien spat, "the TARDIS never brought us here for that at all. It – it was just a game, alright? To – to piss him off because he pissed me off. I only started to look at him because there was nothing else to look at. But that's all it was, looking. Like - like window-shopping. It's not my fault he's got it into his head to think it meant something more" -

\- "Well, just back off from breaking his heart, alright," the Doctor snapped, hiding the relief flooding through his veins at her virulence, "we've got enough on our plates as it is."

Vivien just nodded, before sinking back into her pillows, realising too late the damage was already done.

* * *

The next day, Tom came striding into the science classroom, abruptly nodding at Anne who turned away from him, making Tom's jaw tighten. He hesitated before going over to Vivien, who was now sitting on the edge of the camp-bed, admiring her feet, Maggie having given her a pair of almost new brown knee-high boots. Maggie had dropped by the night before to help Vivien clean herself up, Vivien reluctantly submitting to Maggie's ministrations. She didn't exactly like Maggie, but she didn't exactly dislike her either, resulting in them meeting on an awkward middle ground.

"Hey," Tom said gruffly, making Vivien glance up at him, pushing the hair out of her eyes almost provocatively.

"Hey yourself," Vivien said sarcastically, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Anne says she's going to keep you in for observation for the next few days," Tom said tersely, glancing over at Anne who still had her back to him, "so I'll draw up a schedule of your duties in the meantime."

"How kind of you," Vivien said, rolling her eyes. ""What's with the books?" she asked abruptly, gesturing to the bundle of books tucked under his arm. "You having a jumble sale or something?"

"No," Tom said coldly, "they're for you, actually."

"Oh."

"Look, I know you're climbing the walls cooped up in here," Tom said, exhaling sharply, "but it's for your own safety."

"What, so you pick out a few potboilers to make me feel better about being your prisoner?" Vivien snapped. "Thanks a lot, Tom."

"I didn't mean it like that" -

\- "So what the hell do you mean, then?"

"Reading takes me out of myself," Tom tried to explain, "it's like a sort of therapy, you might say. It keeps me sane."

"What, so you think I'm insane now!?"

"I'm just saying, reading might take your mind off things a bit," he said, fighting to keep his temper, "if you'd just give it a goddamn chance" -

\- "I hate books," Vivien said from between gritted teeth, fists clenched by her sides, "I hate reading. I hate being here. I hate _you_ and bunging a few books at me isn't going to change that" -

\- "Here," Tom snapped, shoving a battered chocolate bar into her hand, startling her, "this is for you as well."

Vivien stared at him, startled. "Thanks," she said slowly, still staring at him, her brow furrowing.

"I found it in a store during the supply run this morning," Tom said, shifting from one foot to the other, realizing too late he was crossing the line again, "I – I thought you – I just thought" -

\- "It's the thought that counts, right?" Vivien said, cutting across him, her brow furrowing further.

"Something like that," Tom said quietly, his dark eyes finally daring to meet hers, holding her gaze. Something shifted in the atmosphere, Vivien's heart beginning to beat erratically in her chest, remembering the Doctor's words, _you are all or nothing to him_...

"Hey," Maggie said, appearing out of thin air, making Tom and Vivien start violently. "Whoa, I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" she said, glancing between the both of them, Tom now the colour of a ripe tomato.

"No, you're not," Tom said, running his hand across his beard, trying and failing to recover his composure.

"You sure about that, Professor?" Maggie almost taunted.

"What do you want, Margaret?" Tom asked abruptly.

"Weaver wants you," Maggie said as equally as abruptly.

"Do you know what for?"

"Nope, not a scooby," Maggie said, shaking her head.

Tom just glared at her, before turning and leaving, dumping the bundle of books down on the window-sill. Maggie watched him go before turning to Vivien, whose face was still tellingly flushed.

"You wanna tell me what that was about, sweetheart?" Maggie asked, eyebrow raised.

"What do you care?"

"Would you believe me if I said I'm just trying to keep an eye on you?"

"So is everyone else," Vivien said, "I'm Enemy Number One, in case you haven't noticed."

"I'm talking about woman-to-woman."

"I don't know what you're talking about, woman-to-woman or not."

"You being shacked up here with Tom Mason is the talk of the 2nd Mass," Maggie said, stepping forwards, "and some are saying it's not completely innocent."

"What, you think I'm his mistress now or something?" Vivien said in disbelief.

"No, I'm thinking he might be abusing his authority."

"What, like Billy? Like Cueball!?" Vivien spat, making the blood drain from Maggie's face. "Tom's not like that, Maggie, he's_ nothing_ like them. He might an asshole but he's not a monster" -

\- "You know, I see the way you watch him," Maggie said, cutting across her, "and the way he watches you back."

Vivien paled, but she stood her ground. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said primly.

"Don't act the ingénue," Maggie said, sighing heavily, "there's no way this is going but down."

Vivien looked away, suddenly finding the floor fascinating.

"Tom is second-in-command of the 2nd Massachusetts, Vivien," Maggie said, stooping down so she was eye-level with Vivien, "heading up an alien resistance movement dedicated to wiping ET off the face of the planet. You're a hybrid accused of collaborating with the Skitters, a half breed who's allied herself with an extra-terrestrial that looks human and has two hearts. But you still have time to bail out - you don't have to dig yourself into this hole."

"I'm not digging myself into any hole."

"No, you're just burying yourself in your own grave."

Vivien just scoffed, shaking her head.

"Another two weeks in here and you'll be feeding him grapes like he's Julius Caesar," Maggie said urgently, eyes anxious. "So get out while you can, any way you can."

Before Vivien could reply, Tom came striding through the doors, face irate. "Weaver didn't want me at all," he fired at Maggie, making her turn around. "In fact, he was taking a nap. He wasn't too happy about me waking him up either, let me tell you that. Gave me a right earful."

Maggie just shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry, must have got the wrong end of the stick," she said lightly.

"You seem to have a habit of that," Vivien said smartly.

"You know, Cueball brought me chocolates as well," Maggie said, smiling bitterly, gesturing to the chocolate bar in Vivien's hand. "Thought it made things... legit." Then she was gone, the heels of her boots clicking across the ground.


	20. Everybody Knows

**Everybody Knows**

Vivien stood by the window, watching Tom play catch with Matt below, Tom unaware he was being observed so intently. Her gaze was almost riveted on Tom, studying the sheer mass of him, how tall he was, the broadness of his shoulders. She hadn't seen him for a week now, apart from this rare interlude, Tom as far from her now as he was then. Common sense dictated she turn her thoughts away from Tom, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't, and it frightened her.

Exhaling sharply, she forced herself to get a grip, face hardening as she turned away from the window. Tom was nothing to her and he would be nothing to her. The Doctor would do what he did best and save this sorry world, and then they would be gone, escaping into the stars. Tom Mason would be nothing more than a memory, her time here an unpleasant interval soon forgotten.

Gritting her teeth, she picked up a canvas bag and started shoving her meagre belongings inside it, the bits and pieces of clothing that had filtered through the armed guards on the doors, Lourdes Maggie smuggling them in, as well providing what passed as necessities, a battered hairbrush and a thankfully new toothbrush, along with toothpaste, some hairpins and scrunchies. Things like feminine hygiene items were rationed, sanitary towels and tampons swiftly becoming the stuff of legend, and as for Vivien shaving her legs, she could forget it, not being allowed anything as deadly as a razor in her hands.

She hesitated over the pile of unread books Tom had given her, before stuffing them inside the canvas bag as well, figuring she might as well take them. Anne had given the go-ahead for Vivien to be discharged from the clinic, ruling her fit enough to leave. Vivien had received her schedule that morning, Tom's painfully neat print dictating what duties she had been assigned, a rota largely comprising of laundry and childcare detail, as well as shifts in the medical clinic, which would let her see the Doctor at least.

"Where's your troubadour, honey?" Maggie asked as she strutted through the doors, rifle slung across her back.

"Troubadour?" Vivien said, confused.

"Tom," Maggie translated, collapsing down in a chair. "Haven't seen him around here for a while."

Vivien eyed the other girl, still wary of her. Maggie had taken to visiting Vivien at the oddest of times, dropping by out of the blue, much to Vivien's bewilderment. Maggie was trying to be friendly but again, Vivien wasn't sure she wanted to be her friend. Despite being unnerving herself, Maggie unnerved her, and Vivien did_ not _like being unnerved.

"Spill the beans, honey," Maggie drawled, leaning back in her chair, "why is Mason giving you the cold shoulder, huh? Or is it the other way around? Does his beard not ring your bell?"

"Piss off."

Maggie looked at her before throwing back her head and laughing. "C'mon, why is he walking around like a constipated hen?" she smirked, setting Vivien on edge. "You can tell your Auntie Margaret."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Did you come across too strong and scare him off?" Maggie said, looking hugely amused. "I hate to break it to you but Mason seems a little wet about the ears. He's not exactly cut from the same cloth as Casanova."

Vivien just looked at her, full mouth mutinous.

"This isn't some chick-lit novel, kid. Your eyes didn't meet his across a crowded room, Vi," Maggie said, leaning forwards, "it was through the bars of a cage."

"Why are you here?" Vivien said stiffly.

"On the orders of My Little Pony," Maggie said lightly, referencing Weaver's pony-tail. "I'm gonna be your Yoda."

"What?"

"It's about this earning your citizenship shtick," Maggie said, rolling her eyes, "I've to take you under my wing and show you the ropes."

"_You?_"

"They're killing two birds with one stone, sugar," Maggie said, standing up, "makes it easier for them to keep an eye on us if they lump the outcasts together."

"He's having you watched as well?" Vivien said sharply, setting down her canvas bag.

"If you mean Tom Mason, yeah," Maggie said, tossing her blonde hair back, "remember, I was running with Pope and his partisans before I jumped ship."

"Where is that prick anyways?"

"Cooped up in a closet," Maggie said smartly, "when he should be six feet under, but good things come to those who wait, eh?"

* * *

"This is Louise, Tia, Su–Lin..." Maggie proceeded to reel off a list of names Vivien would never remember, her mind starting to whirl with the amount of people surrounding her. Her living quarters consisted of a camp bed shoved into a cramped corner of a classroom, having to share the limited space with Maggie and umpteen other female fighters.

Vivien nodded and smiled, waving her hand at random intervals at randoms, wishing they would all just disappear and leave her alone. The women were friendly enough, but there was an undercurrent of unease in the air, everyone except Maggie apprehensive of Vivien and what she was. She had saved their lives almost at the expense of her own one, but the near sacrifice would never allow her to earn acceptance amongst them. With war raging between humanity and extra-terrestrials, there was no place for those like Vivien, caught between two species.

"Alright, enough with the mingling," Maggie said abruptly, getting tired of playing hostess, "go forth and multiply without us." She grabbed Vivien by the arm and steered her over to where they slept, their camp beds standing side by side, Vivien's distinguished by a faded old red throw and crocheted cushions meant to serve as a pillow.

Vivien set down her canvas bag, making the camp bed dip threateningly. "I'm not braiding your hair or having pillow-fights," she said, turning to Maggie, "and no BFFs sleepovers either" -

\- "Sure sugar," Maggie said scathingly, sitting down on the edge of her camp bed, "we'll have knife-fights at dawn instead if you like."

"I... I didn't mean it like that," Vivien said uneasily, sensing she'd hurt Maggie in some strange undefinable way, "I just... I appreciate what you did for me, what you're doing" -

\- "I'm just obeying orders, sweetheart," Maggie said, recovering herself, "to show you what the score is and watch your back, that's all. It doesn't mean we have to be friends, _friend_."

"Wait, what do you mean you're watching my back?" Vivien said, doing a double-take.

Maggie just looked at her. "You're an alien human hybrid, little Vi," she said mockingly, "swanning around the heartland of an alien resistance movement. Do the math, kid."

Vivien studied Maggie for a moment, taking in the silver handguns on her hips, the hunting knife strapped to her thigh, the rifle slung across her back, big trouble wrapped up in a beautiful blonde package. "I think I fried my brain more than I originally thought," Vivien said tiredly, fighting the urge to facepalm herself, "but yes, you're right, and yes, I am a fool, the biggest fucking fool ever. Feel free to slap me with a rubber fish."

"Okay, I suspected you were nuts but now I know for sure," Maggie said, looking amused against her will, "but I'll overlook this little oversight – this time. Just remember who _you_ are and who _they _are and we'll be good. Plus any trouble, you come straight to me, ya hear?"

Vivien nodded, hearing her loud and clear. "Is... is the Kevin Costner thing Tom's idea?" she said, trying and failing to feign nonchalance.

"Partly," Maggie said flippantly, standing up, "and partly My Little Pony as well. But I was way ahead of them."

"Well... um, thanks?"

"I'm not going to tear Tom-Tom apart if he so much as speaks to you," Maggie said tiredly, "but any bullshit and he'll have me to answer to. He's in a position of power and I've seen what men with that kind of power are capable of. They think everyone and everything is there for their taking."

"But Tom's not like that," Vivien reiterated through gritted teeth, "I get why you have that mindset, but he isn't Pope" -

\- "God, he's got you brainwashed, hasn't he?" Maggie said bitterly, shaking her head. "You only got a taste of what I went through, and I'll be damned if I let that happen to anyone again."

* * *

Vivien sat cross-legged on the camp bed, trying and failing to read one of Tom's books, nervously flicking through the pages, only to return to the beginning to where he'd scrawled his name in slanting script across the rain-spotted paper.

"What's that you're reading?" Maggie asked, glancing up from where she was playing poker with some of the other women fighters, contraband scattered across Maggie's camp bed, Maggie so far holding the biggest haul.

"_A Tale of Two Cities,_" Vivien said with some disgust, holding it up.

"Didn't have you pegged as the bookish type, kid," Maggie said, brow furrowing as she examined her cards.

"It's Tom's," Vivien said, flicking through the pages again, "he gave me it."

"Oh, it's _Tom_, is it?" one of the women taunted, Ciara or something Vivien half remembered, not really caring. "You in there, darlin'?"

"Back off," Maggie warned, "not unless you want to lose your hair extensions."

"C'mon, I'm only sayin' what we're all thinkin'," Ciara said, glancing around at everyone, "we all want a shot at Mason, and lil Vi's the closest to gettin' the golden goose."

"Speak for yourself," Maggie said coolly, glancing at Vivien, silently telling her to shut her trap, "I prefer to pay my own bills."

"And some prefer not to," Ciara said, concealing her hand, "there's other ways to earn our keep around here than totin' a rifle."

"I'd rather earn my way on my back," Tia said bluntly, "it'd be a hell lotta easier on my bunions if I did."

"Are we seriously having this conversation?" Maggie said in disbelief. "Or am I just imagining it and we're really playing croquet on some sweet ass English lord's lawn?"

"It's the only way to the top, sweetcheeks," Cherry said, lighting up a cigarette. "Ride or die."

"There's nothing at the top, _sugar lump_," Maggie said dangerously, "only more stairs to climb. Warming Mason's bed isn't gonna turn your life into _Lifestyles Of The Rich and Famous_."

"Yeah, but it would make life easier," Su-Lin said, studying her cards, "you'd have more to eat for starters. You'd have more of everything full stop."

"The only fly in the ointment is his brats," Ciara said coldly, "but hey, a girl can't have everythin', can she?"

"Well, I'm gunning for Weaver," Tia said smartly, "I'm going all the way to the top, stairs or otherwise."

"Good luck with that one," Ciara snorted. "The only way you'll get his attention if you turn yourself into a bottle of whiskey."

"Well, Mason's mine," Su-Lin said airily, "beard and all. The rest of you bitches will just have to wait your turn."

"And so will you," Cherry smirked, tipping her ash into Maggie's mug, "Fern and Latisha are takin' bets on Heather bein' the next Mrs. Mason now Anne's out of the runnin' thanks to lil Vi here."

"And what are the odds on me?" Vivien said quietly, setting the book down, folding her hands quietly in her lap instead.

The women looked at each other, an awkward silence descending, something in the atmosphere shifting, Vivien suddenly seeming more alien than ever, her blue-black hair cutting too strong a contrast to her bone white face, her words underpinned by an unearthly cadence that was obviously not human.

"Not good," Ciara said bluntly, speaking up, "Mason's got to think with his head and not his balls. You're better lookin' than Heather but she ain't gonna cost him his position. She ain't got your hips though, too skinny. That might swin' thin's in your favour if Mason wants to set up a nursery" -

\- "He's already got his heir and spares," Cherry said scornfully, "what he's lookin' for is a step-mother for the brats he's already got. Heather will have her hands full but she's born for it, ain't she? Fresh off the farm she is, no stranger to hard work. Plus she worships the ground Mason walks on, so maybe that'll make up for the fact she's got a face like the back end of a bus" -

\- "That might drive him Annewards again though," Su-Ling theorized, "she _was_ the one we all thought was gonna hook him in the end. She's got beauty and brains and a bra size to make the rest of us weep" -

\- "Well, she's welcome to the weddin' rin'," Ciara said tersely, "I only want Mason's worldly wealth, nothin' else."

"So says you," Su-Ling said with a dirty laugh, "I want it all, baby, the man and the money. Have you seen the shoulders on that man? And his hands? Imagine what he could so with those hands" -

\- "C'mon," Maggie snapped, sick of the subject, "Mason wouldn't dare dirty those pretty paws of his" -

\- "Talk of the devil," Tia breathed, everybody glancing up, only to see Tom in the doorway of the classroom, Matt balanced on his hip, Heather turning the full battery of her gap-toothed smile on him, staring up into his face with unfettered adoration.

"Fuck," Ciara hissed, Maggie thinking fast and throwing Vivien's faded red throw over the growing pile of contraband, hiding it from sight.

"Be cool, ladies," Maggie said under her breath, "don't want the big boss coming over and blowing this lil operation out of the water." She glanced at Vivien, noting the way her lower lip was trembling, making Maggie's heart twist in her chest. Vivien might have been around, but she was so young and raw next to Maggie and the others, as naïve as a newborn baby.

"God, is he blind?" Tia whispered, shaking her head. "Why would you chase Heather the Heifer when you could have Vivien the Vixen here?" She cast Vivien an approving glance, the first almost friendly look any of the women had given her, making Vivien strangely feel better all of a sudden.

"With a rack like yours, honey, you could aim higher than Mason," Cherry said, studying Vivien with a critical eye, "mebbe even Colonel Porter. Plus you're young, that's always an advantage."

"Also you're English," Su-Lin said, tossing her black hair back, "men like that kind of thing, the accent and shit."

"You shouldn't let bein' sum half-assed hybrid ruin your chances," Ciara said coolly, "we've all gotta work with what we got. You're forbidden fruit and that's in your favour" -

\- "Leave the kid alone," Maggie snapped, face suddenly feral, "she ain't your property to pimp out."

Ciara stared at Maggie for a moment, her lips curling downwards, only to think better of the fight and back down instead. Silence reigned, the women watching Tom and Heather, Maggie watching Vivien, the way she dug her nails into Tom's book, marking her territory.

_Everybody knows they call me broken baby__  
__Everyone wants true love on the side__  
__Everybody knows that I'm a trouble baby__  
__One of these come from the white trash side__  
__I'm everything you want but it's hard to decide__  
__Cause everybody wants true love on the side…__  
_


	21. Like I Was The Devil

**Like I Was The Devil **

Vivien silently scrubbed some stranger's shirt, her mind still awhirl several days on with what the women had said, how they viewed survival amongst the 2nd Mass. She was realising too late how much Tom had sheltered her from the fray. Now she was earning her citizenship, her eyes were being painfully opened to the different dynamics that existed within the alien resistance movement.

Travelling with the Doctor had broadened her horizons, never staying in the one place for long, always moving on, finding their next adventure. But everything in her old life that she'd thought she'd left behind was now her daily bread, the small-mindedness of strangers, their petty rivalries, their inherent selfishness and most of all, their fear of the unknown.

Maggie's band of bitches, as Maggie herself deemed them, had come to awkwardly accept Vivien as one of their number without really accepting her, their compliments undercut by insults. But they treated Maggie the same, undermining her authority at every turn whilst obeying her otherwise. Vivien and Maggie were part of the pack without being part of it.

Everybody else Vivien encountered viewed her with barely hidden hostility, fear coming first, all thoughts of friendship forsaken. Childcare detail had become a gauntlet to run, parents and carers acting as if she was going to eat their children as soon as their backs were turned. Working in the medical clinic had seen the Doctor closed off to her, focusing on his work with exaggerated fervency, shutting her out. Laundry was the only place she found peace, scrubbing stopping her from thinking about the limbo she now lived, hunted and isolated on either side.

Throwing the shirt into the basket of wet clothes, not looking forwards to lugging it outside and hanging its contents up to dry out back, Vivien picked up a pair of jeans, only for her head to snap up at the sound of Tom's voice, freezing like a fool. Like the last time she'd seen him, he had Matt balanced on his hip, his back turned to her as he spoke to the woman who oversaw laundry detail on his behalf, Jacquetta, a bad tempered fading French beauty in her forties.

"It's his favourite figurine," Tom was explaining, half dead on his feet, "Batman" -

\- "It's Spiderman," Matt whined, pulling his thumb out of his mouth. "I can't sleep without it, Dad."

"Then maybe you should be more careful how you keep your toys," Tom said, struggling to keep his temper under control, his mind momentarily wandering to the flask of whiskey tucked behind the bookcase in his quarters. With his searches for Ben spiralling into dead ends, the strain of being second-in-command of the 2nd Mass becoming almost too hard to bear and his increasing obsession with Vivien, forcing himself to avoid her at all costs, Tom had turned to drink to hold him together, his body burning for it right now. But he reasoned it was better to burn for alcohol than for Vivien, but in the depths of the night when he couldn't sleep, he would get up and pace the floor, thinking of Vivien's face and her unearthly eyes, sometimes praying for God to give him peace, so he could give the girl up.

"Holmes, get over here," Jacquetta yelled, face impatient, making Vivien reluctantly get to her feet, the prospect of facing Tom again suddenly terrifying.

Tom turned around, all the blood draining from his face, Vivien's gaze meeting his, blue battling brown.

"Mr. Mason's son has lost his favourite toy," Jacquetta said abruptly, annoyance inflaming her French accent, "have you discovered any such object during your duties, a Spiderman figurine?"

"I haven't done Mr. Mason's laundry yet," Vivien said sullenly, sarcastically spinning Tom's title out, making him half turn away, every insolent syllable striking him like a slap.

"Why not?" Jacquetta snapped, looming over her. "You know Mr. Mason and Captain Weaver's personal items come before the rest of the proletarian populace" -

\- "Whoa, that's enough," Tom interjected hurriedly, not in the mood for Jacquetta's theatricals, "me and Dan aren't quite kings yet – I can assure you we can wait in line for our clean smalls like the rest of the 2nd Mass."

"Well, you're just going to have to wait," Vivien said, crossing her arms over her chest, "I have miles to go before I get to your basket."

"That's okay," Tom said tersely, struggling not to stare at her indecently low neckline, "if you just show me where the basket is, I can check his pockets, see if it's there."

Vivien shrugged her shoulders before turning and leading the way, the sway of her hips making Tom's jaw tighten, his dark gaze determinedly fixed on the fall of black hair tumbling down her back, the harsh light throwing into relief its hidden red highlights. If it wasn't want tearing him apart, it was guilt, his wife barely buried before he was casting covetous glances in another woman's direction, one that was half his age to boot.

"Here's your precious basket," Vivien said, gesturing to it, Tom setting Matt down, before kneeling down on the ground, rifling through the small stinking mountain that was his and his sons' laundry. Picking up one of Matt's crumpled checked shirts, he went through the pockets, only to hit paydirt, Matt snatching the Spiderman figure out of his hand, crowing in triumph before taking off, throwing himself through the doors without a backwards glance.

"And thank you, Dad," Tom muttered to himself, standing up, shaking his head at his son's lack of manners.

Vivien scoffed before she could stop herself, Tom's air of martyrdom amusing her, making Tom glance down at her, caught unawares by her crooked smile, the two of them staring at one another, before Tom hastily turned away, running his hand along the back of his neck, scrunching up his eyes.

"I – I should go," he said abruptly, making to leave, only for Vivien to grab his arm, her touch turning him to stone.

"Why are you avoiding me?" she said suddenly, her voice cracking, making his heart fracture in turn.

\- "First of all, don't lay hands on your superiors," Tom snapped, tearing himself out her hold, "and don't come whining to me about trivialities because I don't talk to you. All I require is that you do your work and keep your head down."

Vivien took a startled step back, all the blood draining from her face, the hatred in his tone hitting her like a bullet, not realising it was hatred aimed at himself and not her. And then he was gone, striding through the doors, Vivien watching them swing shut behind him, before returning to her work, keeping her head down.

* * *

Vivien pretended to sip from her teacup, nodding her head at their prattle, the little girls trying to act like adults, the oldest one pouring more pretend tea self-importantly. She was just starting her shift on childcare detail, having spent the rest of the morning hanging up clothes to dry, forcing herself to forget the look on Tom's face, the memory making her grip tighten around her teacup.

He was starting to mean something to her, and there was no use pretending otherwise, Vivien finally facing facts, the knowledge frightening her, not knowing what to do next. This wasn't a straightforward seduction, her usual hit and run she could flee from. She didn't know how to handle Tom, how to win her way, whether she even could. If she could get him out of her system before he really got a hold on her, maybe she could walk away from this, her heart untouched, but as she watched him stride across the schoolyard, she realised the damage was already done, Vivien in the middle before she'd even begun.

"Miss. Holmes, would you like more tea?"

Vivien tore her gaze away from Tom, holding her teacup out instead, the little girl pompously pouring more. She preferred looking after the younger children, the elder ones being apprehensive or aggressive, their minds being poisoned by their parents. The tea party continued its progress, their hostess pretending to cut slices of cake for them all, Vivien pronouncing it to be delicious, kissing her fingers like an Italian in mock appreciation, sending the little girls into fits of laughter, all dignity forgotten.

Tom stood in the doorway, watching Vivien comically hold court, his face uncharacteristically dark, his hands curled up into balls, rammed into his jacket pockets. He didn't know what was happening to him, why he was becoming so caught by her, his unhealthy obsession evolving into something else, an emotion he didn't want to decipher. He barely knew her, yet it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was keeping his distance, keeping his heart under control, but he was out of control, unable to stop his downwards spiral into destruction.

He had made a promise to stay away from her, to leave before he was lost, but he'd been lost since the second he'd set eyes on her face. He had fought his growing attraction to Anne, winning the war, and he'd crushed down his treacherous thoughts about taking up with Heather just for the sake of his sons, knowing she would make a good stepmother to them.

Anne had become almost his enemy, their close friendship threatening his fractured heart, Tom becoming drawn to her against his will by her beauty and bravery, Anne all but saying she wouldn't be averse if he made his move, feeling the same, maybe feeling even more than Tom, but hiding it from him. Whilst he liked Heather, he wasn't physically attracted to her, but all the same, he was lonely and his sons needed someone to stand in the stead of their mother. Yet the memory of Rebecca made him hesitate on both counts, and he remained determinedly alone until Vivien's arrival had torn his carefully constructed world apart.

Tom wasn't naïve; he knew he was no beauty, the epitome of awkward, as well as being twice Vivien's age. He felt like a lecherous old man, his dark gaze watching her every move, his almost every thought about her, driving him to drinking to blot out the memory of her face. In another world, anyone else would have chanced their arm with Vivien, but not Tom. He'd spent the majority of his early adult life alone until he'd met Rebecca, too awkward to even think about approaching women, spending his high school years hiding behind books, hiding his bruises at the same time. He'd been a nerd of the first order, abused at home and in high school, college only serving to increase his awkwardness, Tom spending long hours hiding in the library.

Forcing his thoughts aside, Tom turned to leave, only to barrel into Danner, who grabbed his arm, annoyed. "Where's the fuckin' fire, Mason?" Danner spat, only to freeze at the look on Tom's face, startled at the expression in his eyes. "Whoa, what's yanked your chain?" he asked, glancing over Tom's shoulder, only to see Vivien prancing about the picnic table, the little girls dancing around her like a Maypole.

A smirk played across Danner's lips, amused at Tom's angst. He'd always disliked Tom, the way he played the working man's hero, so earnest and righteous, holding Anne and Heather at arm's length, preferring to sleep alone in his chaste camp bed. Now it turned out that Mason was a man and not a monk after all.

"You wanna be her baby daddy, then?" Danner said quietly, elbowing Tom in the side, as though he was speaking to Tom man to man. He figured he knew the domestic direction Tom's more carnal thoughts ran in, the sudden savage curl of Tom's lips telling Danner he'd successfully struck a nerve. "Why don't you man up and do somethin' about it?" he hissed, glancing over at Vivien again. "But are you too busy fallin' apart to fuckin' tell her how you feel? We all know you're barely holdin' it together, Mason, goin' to pieces about your boy bein' out there; that you're drownin' your sorrows behind the scenes' – and don't deny it, I can smell it on your breath."

Tom dropped his gaze to the ground, his fists clenching by his sides.

"I know you can't handle this second-in-command shtick," Danner said, eyes narrowing, "that you're beginnin' to buckle. So when you do, I'll be first in line to take your place. Think about that, _prick_."

* * *

As evening fell, the first shift of dinner was served, Tom carrying his tray through the crowd, looking for a spare seat, finding none. As he turned around, it was only to catch sight of Vivien in a far corner, each seat on either side of her empty, everybody else deliberately sitting at the far end of the table to avoid her. She held her head high, eating her food with an almost arrogant air, but Tom wasn't deceived by her defiance, something about the sight of her so striking him right in the heart.

"Hey," he said as he approached her end of the table, making Vivien's head snap up in shock, the others avoiding her doing the same, "can I sit here?"

Vivien glanced over at the others who instantly looked away, a mixture of civilians and fighters who knew too well they were defying their second-in-command's strictures about including Vivien as one of their own. "Be my guest," she said coldly, "I was leaving anyways."

"Don't," Tom snapped, before closing his eyes, trying to take back control. "I'm sorry," he said, trying and failing for calm, "but you've obviously not finished your food."

Vivien's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything else, only resuming eating again.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tom sat down beside her, nearly knocking over the table as he did, making Vivien jump violently.

"Jesus, are you a one man wrecking crew!?" she snapped, steadying her cup, flat lemonade slopping over the sides.

"I try," Tom said sarcastically, spooning the inevitable rice into his mouth, the bland taste livened up by some soya sauce scavenged on a previous supply run.

Vivien looked at him for a long moment, a terrible calm suddenly descending on her, finally accepting how much she wanted him, even as it went against all rhyme and reason. It had always been leading to this, from the moment she'd first lain eyes on him, denying her desires. With the different fathers of her children, there had always been a beginning, middle and end, both parties following the prescribed course of courtship, but this was different, Vivien losing the battle with her heart before it had even begun.

"How are you feeling?" Tom said quietly, feeling his stomach turn at the memory of her being hurt, reminding him all over again how he'd broken his promise to protect her.

Vivien looked away, her grip tightening on her plastic fork, trying and failing to marshal her thoughts in order. She was Tom's prisoner, yet she here she sat, imagining a million ways to get him alone and his hands on her.

"Are you okay?" Tom pressed.

Vivien turned eyes of blazing blue on him. "I'm fit enough to fold your clothes," she spat, not wanting to think of Grey, his blood inadvertently on her hands. "Happy?"

Tom rolled his eyes this time. "I'm responsible for your welfare," he pointed out, shovelling some more rice into his mouth, some grain getting caught in his beard.

"How long have we been here?" Vivien said, resisting the urge to lean over and wipe his face for him, the gesture too intimate.

"For well over a month - I think," Tom said frowning, "truth be told though, I've lost count of the time. But I know it's the longest we've ever pitched up in one spot for."

"And I've been out for the count for most of said time," Vivien said acerbically, "makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"Wonder what?"

"How much you know me really," Vivien said smartly, holding his gaze again, making Tom tense up, something behind her blue eyes echoing his inner desires.

"I think I know enough that you're not the enemy," Tom said coldly, "if it's that tired old angle you're aiming for" -

\- "I'm an alien hybrid" -

\- "Yeah, and I'm a history professor spearheading the assault against our alien oppressors," Tom retorted, "with a harnessed son out there somewhere, and a goddamn alien with two hearts changing bandages for the humans in the back room. So what makes you special, Vivien? As far as I see it, we're all standing in the same shit. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, yeah?"

_Or the enemy of my enemy is my lover_, Vivien thought, _or I want him to be_, she darkly added as she abruptly stood up, letting her emotions overcome common sense, leaning over and roughly brushing the rice from his beard with her jacket sleeve, her touch turning Tom to stone. And then she was gone, her black hair whipping out behind her, Tom watching her go with burning eyes.

_Should've know from the first time_  
_Played with me like I was the devil_  
_A_nd I played with you like you were just a man__  
_Wanna lay with you, but I'm never better_  
_From your God, these are the days..._


	22. Oh My Heart Was Flawed

**Oh My Heart Was Flawed **

Tom glanced up from where he was writing out the previous day's events in his journal, deliberately keeping its contents businesslike, not wanting to pour out his troubled heart onto the pages like some teenage girl. As he agonised over a word, Vivien entered the room, carrying a basket of neatly mended clothing, Tom starting slightly as the door closed with a clang behind her.

"I told the guards I wasn't to be disturbed," Tom said tersely, resuming his writing, digging his pen almost painfully into the paper.

"Thank you, Vivien, for sewing the holes in my stinking socks," Vivien said sarcastically, setting the basket down on the ground before hoisting herself onto the edge of his desk, crossing her bare legs provocatively, making Tom lower his pen, eyes narrowing in return, "it was most generous of you."

"It's your job, Vivien," Tom said cuttingly, closing his journal, before standing up, not wanting to sit with Vivien like this, as if she was some student intent on seducing him.

"_You_ made it my job," Vivien said, shaking her black hair back, "whether I wanted it or not."

"What do you want, Vivien?" Tom snapped.

"Do you really need to ask?"

"Just get out," Tom said tiredly, "I'm sick of your little set-ups."

Vivien slid off the edge of the desk, a sneer spreading across her lips, making Tom roll his eyes. "You love me really," she said, sidling up to him, making Tom take a step back, "don't you?"

"If you say so," Tom said, holding the door open for her, "now _get_."

As she left the room, flicking the middle finger at Tom as she went, Tom rolled his eyes again at her immaturity before sitting down in his seat again, picking up his pen only to set it down on the desk, fighting his thoughts, trying not to remember the sight of Vivien sitting on his desk, her legs going on for miles.

Exhaling sharply, he leant over and picked up the basket of clothes she'd left, dumping it on his desk with a large bang, venting his frustration. Rifling through the various shirts and rolled up socks, it was only for his hand to hit something hard, Tom immediately tensing up, suspecting a trap. But curiosity got the better of him, Tom hesitating before carefully lifting the layer of shirts and socks that separated him from what he was searching for, only for his fingers to close around a book, the surprise startling Tom.

With his heart strangely beating fast, he picked the book up, his gaze travelling across the familiar title, _Democracy For America _by Alexis de Tocqueville. Flicking past the frontispiece, his attention was caught by Vivien's untidy scrawl, _To T. Love V. _the sight suddenly infuriating him, making him slam the book down on the desk, before turning and booting the wall, knowing he had already lost the war before it had begun.

_But oh, my heart was flawed_  
_I knew my weakness..._

* * *

Vivien ran a damp cloth over the science bench, holding a disinfectant spray in her other hand, watching the Doctor from the corner of her eye as he cleaned up a bad cut on Anthony's hand, his brow furrowing as he ascertained whether the wound needed stitches or not. The Doctor now stood as a stranger in her eyes, Vivien no longer recognizing him, the way he shrank from saving the world instead of rushing in where angels feared to tread.

"Vivien," the Doctor called over, straightening up, "come and work your magic. Mind you scrub up first though."

"Hey, she's here to clean," Anne interjected, dismissing her own patient, "not to work medical miracles."

"She's got to keep her hand in," the Doctor said coldly, "using Anthony's hand so to speak. If you started teaching people basic procedures, such as stitching up wounds and so forth, it would save you a lot of time" -

\- "Time we don't have as it is," Anne retorted. "And anyways, speaking as a medical professional, I prefer my patients to come to me instead of inflicting DIY disasters on their injuries" -

\- "Vivien is perfectly capable of stitching up a minor wound," the Doctor cut across Anne, "as long as it's not open heart surgery, Anthony will be alright." He made to ruffle up Anthony's hair, only to see a shaven head instead, making his hand freeze in mid-air. "Oh," the Doctor said stupidly, dropping his hand to his side, "I see we'll just have to forget the hair ruffling since there's no hair to ruffle. But you'll be A-OK, Anthony, spiffing-tip-top-clip-clop" -

\- "I think I get the picture," Anthony said uneasily, watching as Vivien vigorously cleaned her hands, not entirely happy at having his own hand at her mercy. Whilst Anthony had become used to the Doctor's eccentricities, Vivien was an unknown quantity, Anthony more than happy to leave her to Tom's suspiciously tender care.

"Don't worry, I don't bite," Vivien said sarcastically as she came over, Anthony unconsciously angling his body away from hers. "I reserve that strictly for special occasions."

Lourdes smothered a smile at this, Anne observing it, before turning away, her lips thinning. She didn't want Vivien here, reminding her all over again of what she'd lost, Anne deliberately isolating herself from Tom, all but barring him from the clinic. She still had strong feelings for him, and she despised herself for desiring to be happy with a man who no longer wanted her, his feelings fickle, his abandonment almost insulting.

"Heads-up people," Dai said as he strode through the swing doors, "I'm looking for Vivien Alison Holmes. Heard she would be here." He glanced around at everyone, their curious faces not the one he was looking for until Vivien stepped forwards, making his head snap up. "Vivien?" he said, making her frown.

"Guilty as charged," Vivien snapped, "but you know that already. We met before, back at the auditorium, thanks to Pope the Prick."

"Do not mention that man's name in my hearing," Dai said, "but yeah, we've met, I remember. Either way, I still have to observe protocol, princess."

"Would you get to the point, Dai," Anthony said, rolling his eyes. "Walking wounded here."

"Tom wants to speak to you," Dai said to Vivien, "I've to escort you to his quarters."

"Are you sure that's all he wants?" the Doctor said darkly, making Vivien round on him, her face furious.

"Shut your bloody mouth," she hissed, "you want to be strung up by the ankles?"

"Been there, done that," the Doctor said dismissively, "now step aside, you're impeding medical progress."

* * *

"You wanted to speak to me?" Vivien said, closing the door behind her, nostrils flaring at the faint but bitter tang of bourbon in the air.

"Yeah," Tom snapped, leaning back in his chair, "I was rather startled by the surprise you sprung me." He gestured with a large hand to the book on his desk, Vivien's gaze falling upon it, the colour rising in her cheeks.

"I was trying to be nice," Vivien said through gritted teeth. "There was no ulterior motive."

"Nice why?"

"I was just trying to show my appreciation for what you've tried to do for me and the Doctor."

"Yeah, I tried - miserably might I add," Tom said, a sneer spreading across his lips. "The two of you literally bought the bullet on my watch."

Vivien looked away, her fists clenching by her sides, now bitterly regretting giving him the book. She had traded taking on more laundry detail for it, her eye caught by the cover, making her think of Tom.

"Whilst I appreciate your kind thought, there's a chain of command that has to be observed," Tom then said coldly, "meaning I can't accept your gift as it will compromise my position" -

\- "What, it would look like you're abusing your authority?"

"Exactly."

"Why, because it would imply we were having an intimate relationship?"

"Do you want me to spell it out, Vivien?" Tom snapped, not liking the equally intimate tone Vivien had adopted. "Or do you want a little Powerpoint demonstration?"

"But _you've_ given_ me_ stuff," Vivien snapped back, folding her arms across her chest, "so to all intents and purposes, that smacks of" -

\- "That was an oversight," Tom said, straightening up, "I felt sorry for you" -

\- "I never asked for your bloody pity" -

\- "Just take the goddamn book!" Tom exploded, making Vivien start violently. "Jesus," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, "just take the book and go."

"What is your problem with me?" Vivien said, tears burning the back of her eyes. "If it's not _what_ I am, what the hell is it, then?"

"I have 99 problems on my plate," Tom snapped, getting up, going round the desk to her, "I don't need you to make 100."

"I'm your biggest problem," Vivien said, shoving him hard in the chest, "the Doctor your second"-

\- "My first priority is my family," Tom said, grabbing her wrists, "not you."

Vivien just glanced down at his large hands shackling her wrists, before looking up through her eyelashes at him, biting her lip. "Like I said before, you don't look like the type," she said provocatively, her new turn of tone making Tom let of her immediately.

"I prefer passion, not pain," Tom said sarcastically, sitting down in his seat again, putting the desk between them both.

"Now we're finally getting somewhere," Vivien exclaimed, rounding the desk, perching on the arm of Tom's chair. "What else do you prefer? I'm all ears" -

\- "I'm going to give you to the count of one to get the hell off my chair," Tom said from between gritted teeth. "One" -

\- "God, you're a hard nut to crack," Vivien snapped, getting up, "what's your deal?"

"My deal?" Tom said incredulously. "What's yours? To annoy me to death?"

"You like it really."

"I really don't."

Vivien raised an eyebrow, before leaning over the desk, giving Tom a good eyeful of her cleavage, the thin strap of her camisole slipping down her bare shoulder, making Tom hastily avert his eyes, almost acting as though snapping out of a trance, but too late, Vivien's eyebrow inching up even higher. "You didn't need to summon me here like some naughty schoolgirl," she said quietly, "you could have just sent the book back or even dumped it."

"I summoned you here to warn you about your ridiculous behaviour," Tom said with some difficulty, "that you're jeopardising your position and the Doctor's as well. We've already discussed this, Vivien. You're treading a very thin line."

Vivien straightened up, face paling. "The Doctor hasn't done anything," she said, voice cracking, "he's playing ball."

"But you aren't. The Doctor is the dealbreaker. You screw up, he suffers the fallout."

Vivien stared at Tom's unrelenting face. "What, you'd hurt him to hurt me?" she said, frightened, no longer the belle-temptress.

"Consider this your first warning, Vivien," Tom said, picking up his pen again, "the second one will see the Doctor out of the game. It's your choice. So don't screw up, okay?"


	23. Fire Running Through My Veins

**Fire Running Through My Veins **

Vivien rolled the ball across the floor to one of her favourites, a little African-American girl called Thalia, the toddler booting the ball back, crowing with delight, clapping her chubby hands together with glee. It was early morning, Vivien back on childcare detail, stationed in the gym hall this time, helping the other women with the younger children, Vivien as isolated as ever. Nearby, science class was being taught, a middle-aged woman with a crop of iron curls and pince-nez glasses dangling around her neck holding court, pointing at an annotated chalked diagram entitled 'The Cell' with a ruler, tapping the blackboard every two seconds to emphasise a point, the sound drilling into Vivien's skull.

Amongst the small crowd of children surrounding the blackboard, was a moody looking Matt, his lower lip jutting out, brow furrowed. Vivien glanced at him from time to time, concerned, sensing the tension emanating from him. She didn't think it was the science lesson that was making him frown, but something more serious, his body language negative, all hunched shoulders and narrowed eyes, arms folded across his chest.

Ever since her outburst at the clinic, she had kept her distance from Matt, Vivien suspecting that Tom had told his son to stay away from her in turn. And so she'd continued to carefully keep her distance, avoiding Hal as well, an arrangement that suited both parties. Yet she'd become peculiarly fond of Matt in the brief time she'd known him, amused by his little oddities and the streak of mischief that ran through his nature. He didn't look anything like Tom, his face cherubic, his golden brown curls equally angelic, but he had Tom's brown eyes and something of his serious manner when speaking, sending a strange pang through Vivien, remembering her own lost children.

"Am I boring you, Mr. Mason?" the teacher said sarcastically, making Matt glance up, lowering his arms to his sides.

"Yeah, you are," Matt said sulkily, his response making Vivien roll her eyes, picking up Thalia as she got to her feet.

"I think you need some time out, Matt," the teacher said, not wasting time on admonishing him anymore, "go and sit on the bleachers. I'll speak to you after class."

Without a word, Matt got up and stalked over to the bleachers, ignoring the hushed giggles and mutters that followed in his wake. The teacher told everyone to be quiet, her order hastily obeyed, the children falling into studious silence. As the teacher droned on, Vivien hesitated before making her way over to Matt, only to almost walk smackbang into Tom, Vivien taking a swift step back, balancing Thalia higher on her hip as she regained her balance.

"Sorry," Tom apologized, swapping his book and breakfast bar to his other hand, anxious to conceal the former from Vivien's sight, "you're the third person I've nearly knocked down in five minutes."

Vivien studied his exhausted face, slightly startled at his civility, only for her surprise to be replaced by struggle, reluctantly wanting to reach up and cup his bearded cheek with her hand, to smooth away his tiredness with her touch. "I like to live dangerously," she said smartly, "keeps my existence exciting."

"I wouldn't recommend playing with matches as a past-time," Tom said, raising his eyebrows, "metaphorically speaking of course."

"I don't mind getting my fingers burned," Vivien said carelessly, edging closer to Tom, making him take a step back. "My unearthliness isn't infectious," she said, rolling her eyes again, "you're not going to lose your humanity by breathing in the same air as me."

"I said I don't give a damn about your alien origins," Tom said through gritted teeth, "I just don't like your insidious sidling."

"Sidling doesn't automatically equal seduction," Vivien said, edging even closer, reaching out and turning his book over, confirming her suspicions, why she was back to playing fire, knowing she would get away with it. "I see you've changed your tune," she said, indigo eyes mockingly exultant, "but I shouldn't be surprised, should I?"

"Why shouldn't you be?"

"The desire for knowledge is your weakness," Vivien said, "your Waterloo – metaphorically speaking of course."

Tom looked away, fighting himself, his weakness standing right in front of him. He'd paced the floor for hours last night, replaying his interview with Vivien over and over in his head, half regretting his reaction, half grateful for not giving way. She knew full well what she was doing, playing games with his head, all too aware he was looking at her when he shouldn't have been.

"How now, Lia-Lia," Vivien reprimanded Thalia, the toddler's lower lip trembling threateningly at not being the centre of attention, "you don't want me to bring out the tickle-tickle, do you?" She tickled Thalia's tummy gently, making the little girl crow with laughter instead, the temper tantrum avoided, the sound making Tom turn around, amused against his will.

"The tickle-tickle?" Tom said sceptically, giving Thalia his finger to hold, reluctantly caught by the tender smile tugging at the corners of Vivien's lips, the expression altering her appearance entirely, softening her face.

"She bites by the way," Vivien said, making Tom immediately tear his finger away, Thalia lunging at him, making Tom take a panicked step back. "Still scared, then?" Vivien then asked, referencing Tom's earlier admission of being afraid of having daughters.

"I don't know who's more terrifying," Tom said sarcastically, recovering himself, "you or her."

"Oh, it's me, hands down," Vivien said, snapping her teeth, making Tom flinch. "Want me to cure you? They say the best way to fight your fear is by confronting it."

"I confront you on a daily basis," Tom snapped, "and it doesn't seem to be working any wonders for me."

"Maybe you need to approach me from a different angle," Vivien said provocatively, "gird your loins and make that move."

"Maybe I need to move away."

"You shouldn't run from your fears, Tom," Vivien said flippantly, "you should face them."

"So you keep saying," Tom said impatiently, "but if you don't mind, I have to attend to other matters" -

\- "You really hate me, don't you?" Vivien said suddenly, her voice cracking, startling him. "You can hardly bloody stand being near me" -

\- "Of course I don't hate you," Tom snapped, feeling like he was going round in circles, "I'm just sick of your stupid games. If you acted even the slightest bit civil instead of unleashing your cheap impersonation of Aphrodite on me every two minutes, everything would be much easier. As it is, every second sentence that comes out of your mouth is an innuendo aimed in my direction, and it's annoying, Vivien, really annoying."

"You enjoy it really" -

\- "That's exactly what I'm talking about," he hissed, looming over her, "but I suggest you search for fresh material. Your little joke is running thin."

"It's not my fault you don't have a sense of humour" -

\- "Is this conversation going anywhere, Vivien?" Tom cut across her. "Or shall we end it here for both our sakes?"

"Maybe you need to speak to Matt," Vivien said sulkily, glancing over at Matt who was watching them, his brow furrowing further, "something's bothering him."

"Oh," Tom said, glancing over at Matt, wrongfooted at seeing his son sitting separately from the others. "I'll go and speak to him, then."

As he made his way over to the bleachers, Vivien followed him, Tom shooting her a warning glance over his shoulder at her, one which she ignored. Exhaling sharply, he sat down next to his son, Vivien standing at the bottom of the bleachers, shifting Thalia higher on her hip, the toddler chewing on a chubby fist; Tom involuntarily taking Vivien in from head to toe, bitter want making him forget himself for a moment, only for his eye to catch Vivien's knowing one, making him colour hotly.

"Hey buddy," Tom said as he hurriedly turned to Matt, "what's with the long face?"

Matt just scowled, hunching his shoulders further.

Tom bowed his head, knowing he wasn't exactly winning father of the year awards. No matter how much he tried, he knew too well he was never around enough for Matt, that damage was slowly but surely being done with his increasing absences. He checked in with Matt as much as possible, but again, it was always in passing. Now his son seemed to be starting to shut him out, the thought striking sudden fear through Tom's heart.

"You weren't here this morning," Matt said suddenly, straightening up. "You said you would be."

Tom buried his bearded face in his hand, remembering pacing the floor over Vivien, and then the broken sleep that had followed, only to be woken up at four in the morning by Anthony, the group heading out on a supply run, Tom only returning now. "I'm back now," he said tiredly, lowering his hand, "happy?"

"You were going to have breakfast without me," Matt snapped, gesturing at the book and breakfast bar in Tom's hand, "when you said" -

\- "I know what I said," Tom cut across him, "and I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Matt looked at him, eyes narrowing again. "Monopoly marathon," he said abruptly.

"Fine," Tom quickly agreed, "whatever you want."

"You drive a hard bargain, Master Mason," Vivien drawled, making Matt glance sharply at her, "I'd have made your dad work for it."

"My name's Matt," Matt snapped, "Matthew to you."

"Well, _Matthew_," Vivien said, placing her foot on the bottom bleacher, "what's with the long face?"

Matt instantly shrunk into himself.

"C'mon, we can take it," Tom pretended to wheedle, gently nudging Matt in the side, unconsciously including Vivien.

Matt's shoulders were now hunched up to his ears. "One of the other kids said when you take the harness things off, you die," he mumbled, forcing Tom to lean forwards to hear his words.

"You think that's going to happen to Ben?" Tom said astutely, instantly catching Matt's meaning.

Matt nodded, scrunching up his eyes, fighting the tears.

Vivien watched as Tom drew Matt to him, the little boy rigid before suddenly burying his face in his father's shoulder. Biting her lip, she carefully made her way up the bleachers, before sitting down beside Matt, shifting Thalia to her lap. "Hey," she said, making Matt glance up, furiously rubbing his eyes with the inside of his wrist, "your dad's going to find your brother. And when he does, the Doctor's going to take that harness off, easy-peasy, no problemo."

"Vivien" -

\- "Tom, just trust me for once, alright?" Vivien snapped, making Matt glance between her and his suddenly furious father. "Trust the Doctor, he knows what he's doing."

"What, he can help Ben?" Matt said suspiciously. "Dad," he said, turning to Tom, "can the Doctor do that?"

"He can," Vivien said firmly, before Tom could frame an angry negative, "and he will, I promise."

* * *

"What is it?" Tom said abruptly as he all but slammed the door behind him, making Weaver glance up from the map he'd been studying, brow furrowing beneath the brim of his skip hat.

"What's with the sour grapes, Mason?" Weaver demanded, rising to his feet. "You look like the world's come to an end."

"It has," Tom pointed out tersely.

"So it has," Weaver said, feigning shock, "thanks for reminding me. I'd forgotten all about that."

Tom just looked at him, feeling a vein starting to tic in his temple.

"I summoned you here because it's high time for your review," Weaver then said, clapping his hands together with uncharacteristic levity, "to go over your strengths and weaknesses."

"Does Danner have anything to do with this little tête-à-tête by any chance?" Tom said through gritted teeth.

"No, he doesn't," Weaver said, brow furrowing further, "and why would he?"

"He doesn't seem to think I can hack it as second-in-command," Tom said with a bitter laugh, "that he'd be better at the job than me."

"I don't really give a damn what Danner thinks," Weaver snapped, "I only follow Colonel Porter's orders, not some jumped up jock's. Danner makes a good soldier but a piss poor leader. There's a chain of command for a reason, and Danner is precisely that reason. He would lose this damn war if he was in charge."

Tom stared at Weaver in surprise, taken aback at the venom in his voice, having always taken Danner to be Weaver's star soldier.

"I admit, I didn't think you could cut it either," Weaver reluctantly admitted, holding up his hands as he paced the floor, "but... but you're not doing too bad. You could do better though."

"Thank God," Tom said, exhaling sharply, "I thought for a minute the Skitters had replaced the real Weaver with a puppet king."

"Hey, I give praise where praise is due," Weaver snapped, "you haven't screwed up too much, so that's a plus in my book. You handled the whole Doctor/Vivien shit-storm better than I did for starters. It was you who got the civilians to stand down and it was you that got that beatnik and his piece of alien ass pulling their weight around here. Now look at them, they could almost pass for humans."

"Vivien is human," Tom snapped back, "she can't be blamed for what she's become; what was inflicted upon her by others."

"Then why is she all over the beatnik?" Weaver accused. "He's an alien, isn't he? It was aliens who so called inflicted their shit on her!"

"Vivien said the Doctor can help us win the war," Tom choked out, startling Weaver, "that if we just gave him the chance" -

\- "What, do you think we should?" Weaver said, suddenly suspicious, remembering the occasions the Doctor had held court, all but taking over.

"No, I don't," Tom said, his voice cracking again, "but desperate times call for desperate measures. Vivien said this morning that the Doctor can safely remove Ben's harness once we find him. She promised he can save my son" -

\- "If you want to let him loose on your son, that's your choice," Weaver cut across Tom, shocking him into silence, "but _I'm_ in charge of the 2nd Massachusetts and _we're_ going to win this war, humans, Mason, not aliens. Porter wants intel but Porter's not here so any intel the Doctor feels fit to impart is going to fall on deaf ears. Do you understand my angle?"

Tom nodded, swallowing hard, feeling like he was being torn in two. Part of him recoiled from trusting the Doctor, an alien, but the other side of him, battle-hardened and bitter, remembered the old adage _the enemy of my enemy is my friend_. But he was yet to be that man he was slowly but surely becoming, the warrior, the general, and so Tom stayed silent, biding his time.

"How are you handling this second-in-command shtick anyways?" Weaver said abruptly, studying Tom, his grey eyes narrowing.

"I'm just finding my feet that's all," Tom said, shaking his head, "it's not that much different from being a history professor, juggling everything at once. The only difference is I'm not grading papers."

"I think Uncle Scott would like you to lend a hand in that direction," Weaver said dryly, "him and the other teachers – they don't have your depth of expertise."

"Well, they're going to just have to whistle," Tom said tiredly, "I've got enough on my plate as it is."

There was a long silence before Weaver spoke again. "You know, we can't stay in this school forever," he said quietly, holding Tom's gaze, "the food will run out, there'll be no more places to scavenge and we'll have to hit the road again."

"I think I figured that out on my own," Tom said coldly, "it was never my intention to stay in Acton when Ben wasn't here. Going to ground is not going to find my son" -

\- "I understand that, but our first priority is to obey orders," Weaver said, his jaw tightening, "but with Porter's continuing radio silence..." He ran his hand down his face. "My hands are tied, Tom," he said, shaking his head, "as long as we can hold the fort here, we stay. But when we can no longer stand our ground, we have to leave, orders or not." The words were wrenched from his lips, going against everything he believed in, all he'd lived his life by.

Tom forced himself to nod, caught between duty and desire, to lead and leave, sacrificing so many for the sake of his son.

* * *

Before either man could say anything else, there was a sharp rap on the door, Weaver exchanging an irritated glance with Tom before shouting for those outside to step through. The door opened, only to reveal Pope flanked by two female fighters, giving Tom an unpleasant sense of déjà-vu of the day Pope had gatecrashed, demanding better accommodation. Surprisingly, Uncle Scott trailed behind them, looking extremely uncomfortable, his wife and Maggie on either side of him, eyes angry, arms folded across their chests.

"Mason, we meet again," Pope declared, making Tom turn away, "much to my misfortune."

"What fresh hell is this?" Weaver demanded, aiming his accusation at the first of the fighters, a blonde woman in her forties.

"Ask Uncle Scott," the blonde woman said coldly, refusing to be intimidated, her tanned face impassive.

"Fine, I will," Weaver snapped, before turning to Uncle Scott. "What's the score with Sinbad here?" he said, gesturing impatiently at Pope, who pretended to examine his nails.

"He doesn't like the food I prepare," Uncle Scott said simply, shaking his head.

"Who does, buddy!?" Pope said in disbelief, raising his head from his hands. "You _murder_ the meals, man!"

"I put paprika on chicken, so what" -

\- "What are you, Hungarian!?" Pope exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. "You have to poach the chicken first before anything, preferably with some chicken-stock, maybe some herbs and spices, just let it absorb everything, and you can grill it or whatever afterwards, because all that moisture and flavour is already packed into it" -

\- "Enough with the cookery class," Weaver said, holding up his hand. "What's the point of this debacle?"

"The point is, Ponytail, I am officially certified in the culinary arts," Pope said, enunciating every word, "as in a chef, not a cook. I made Thanksgiving dinner for three cell blocks, which is 170 inmates, so do the math. They no likey, me deadey" –

"What does that to do with us?"

Pope dared to take a step forwards. "You need me," he said quietly, spreading his hands wide, "but more than that, the stomachs of the 2nd Massachusetts need me. Anymore of that pap you've been serving the civilians and whatnot, and you'll have a bonafide riot on your hands."

"Mason?" Weaver fired at Tom, forcing him to face Pope. "What are your thoughts on Uncle Scott's culinary skills?"

Tom hesitated, not wanting to hurt Anne's uncle's feelings. "That he doesn't have any," he said in a rush, wincing as Uncle Scott exhaled sharply, looking shocked, "and so say all the civilians. Unfortunately, Pope has a point."

"Finally, we agree on something at last," Pope said dramatically, rolling his eyes.

Weaver didn't say anything, his face becoming thoughtful as he studied Pope, finally finding a use for him. "We'll give you a trial run," he said abruptly, "Anthony will show you our stores, so you can see what you're up against."

"Are you serious?" Maggie blurted out, lunging forwards, Uncle Scott's wife grabbing her arm, holding her back. "He'll poison us all!"

"He'll be under armed guard at all times" -

\- "You need eyes in the back of your head around him" -

\- "You were with him for a while," Weaver said, making Maggie pale, Tom frowning at Weaver's turn of phrase, "can he cook like he says he can?"

"When I could stomach eating with a bunch of degenerate psychos, yeah" -

\- "That's all I needed to know," Weaver cut across her, "you're dismissed."

Maggie just shook her head, before Uncle Scott's wife led her out of the classroom, winding her arm around Maggie's waist, Uncle Scott trailing at their heels, shooting Tom a hurt look over his shoulder as he went, Tom guiltily dropping his gaze to the ground. "That wasn't necessary," Tom then said, turning to Weaver, "flinging it in her face" -

\- "How's Vivien, huh?" Pope interrupted, making both men turn to him this time. "I heard on the grapevine you're giving it to her real good" - The next thing he knew was Tom's fist in his face, sending him sprawling to the ground, everybody else standing there stunned at this abrupt turn of events, Tom then booting Pope in the stomach, once, twice, making him double up in agony. "You fucking dick!" Pope gasped, rolling onto his side, blood pouring from his nose.

"That is enough!" Weaver yelled, recovering himself, grabbing Tom by the shoulders, trying and failing to drag him back.

"No, it isn't," Tom said through gritted teeth, swiftly pulling out his gun, pointing it at Pope's head. The fighters instantly froze, Weaver backing away, hands raised, something in Tom's eyes stopping him from interfering further. "I know what your brother and that other bastard did to Maggie, what you let them do," he hissed, holding Pope's gaze, "what you were going to let happen to Vivien" -

– "Oh, my baby brother had a taste of that pie," Pope said, spitting out blood, "really sank his teeth into that one" - Tom slammed his boot into Pope's stomach again, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

"Yeah, I heard that," Tom spat, "how he was going to break her in before breaking her nice and slow" -

\- "For what it's worth, I stopped Billy from having anything more than a quick feel of our dear Vivien," Pope said with great difficulty, "but then again, maybe I should have just set him on her, what with the bitch being a Skitter slut and all" - Tom's foot connected with his skull, silencing him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Don't tell me he didn't deserve that," Tom said, turning to Weaver, face feral.

"I'm not saying anything," Weaver said, lowering his hands to his sides, the female fighters backing away from Pope, their faces filled with revulsion.

Tom looked at him for a long moment before stowing his gun away. "There's nothing left to say," he said coldly, before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

_And I feel it running through my veins__  
__And I need that fire just to know that I'm awake__  
__Erased, I missed till the break of day__  
__And I need that fire just to know that I'm awake…_


End file.
